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THE MAN WHO LIKES
MEXICO
A Mexican charro
WANDERINGS
IN MEXICO
THE SPIRITED CHRONICLE
OF ADVENTURE IN MEXICAN
HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS
Ou5€n
^ WALLACE GILLPATRICK
("THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO ")
LONDON
EVELEIGH NASH
1912
TO MY MEXICAN FRIENDS FROM
WHOM I HAVE RECEIVED MUCH
KINDNESS THIS BOOK IS GRATE-
FULLY DEDICATED.
THE AUTHOR.
FOREWORD
During my residence in Mexico City I made the ac-
quaintance of a young officer in the Mexican army, Colo-
nel Victor H , who was subsequently on mission in
the United States and in Europe. I was introduced to
him as " The Man Who Likes Mexico."
" If that is so," he said in English, " then I like you."
And the acquaintance, thus begun, developed into an
enduring friendship.
Americans who visit Mexico will not fail to discover
much that is likable ; and it seems only just to remark
first on what is likable, deferring adverse comment until
a careful observation of life and conditions shall have
rendered intelligent criticism possible. For the rest, it
is undeniable that we Americans are more favorably
disposed towards the foreign visitor, who likes our coun-
try, than towards the one who begins by finding fault
with us.
Mexico is proud of her civilization and of her culture ;
of her builders, painters, sculptors, musicians and men
of letters. Among her early writers, she is proud of
such names as Vetancurt, Medina, Padilla, Lizardi,
Clavigero, Navarrete, Ouintana Roo, Bustamante and
Lucas Alaman; and since her literary renaissance, which
FOREWORD
occurred during the last half of the nineteenth century,
of Roa Barcena, Orozco y Berra, Gutierrez Otero, Guil-
lermo Prieto, Altamirano, Acuna, Romero, Gutierrez
Najara, Juan de Dios Peza, Ruiz de Alarcon, Riva
Palacio, Justo Sierra, Dias Covarrubias, Diaz Miron,
Valenzuela, and Othon. Among the younger men are
Gonzalez Obregon, Urueta, Nervo, Tablada, Campos,
Davalos and a score of others. Mexico cannot under-
stand the indifference to her culture on the part of the
average American, within her gates, whose sole aim is
apparently the acquisition of wealth. The educated
Mexicans are familiar with the literary product of
America, and our writers, especially our poets, are
known, both in translation and in the original. An ac-
quaintance with Mexican writers is highly desirable for
resident Americans, and will be found of great value in
the study of Mexican life and customs.
The journeys described in the following pages oc-
curred during the first two years of a residence in Mex-
ico of nearly six years. Mexico City was nearly always
the starting-point, and it proved both pleasant and
profitable to return occasionally to the Mexican Capital
for rest and perspective. The traveler with leisure
might well adopt a similar plan ; and if the places here
described are visited, the life and customs will be found
but little changed.
The title of this volume is the name under which I
wrote as correspondent for the Mexican Herald, and
I desire to express my gratitude to the Editors, Man-
FOREWORD
ager and Staff of that paper for their unfailing approval
and assistance. I also wish to thank Mr. Jose Lupercio
of Guadalajara, Mr. C. B. Waite of Mexico City, and
the Mexican Herald for the use of photographs.
W. G,
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
The Lure of Mexico: California a Stepping-Stone: Invi-
tation to Visit a Mexican Mine : The Outfit : A For-
tunate Meeting: Railroad Travel and Opinions of
Fellow Travelers : The English Race Natural Fault-
Finders : Arrival at Durango : A Vanishing Mexican
Friend: Baths of Las Canoas : My First Bull-Fight:
Preparations for a Long Journey: Over Mexico's
Mountains on a Mule 3
CHAPTER II
A Ride in the Dark: Misgivings: The Fiddler Guide:
Wolf- Face: No Stop for Dinner: Beautiful Mountain
Scenery : Ten Hours of Suspense : Wayside Crosses :
Valley of Huahuapan : Reunion With Friends : Work
and Play: Life in a Mexican Pueblo: A Beautiful
Box: A Bad Peon 28
CHAPTER III
Stories of Lost Mines: "El Naranjal": How Mines
Were Lost: Fear and Strange Superstitions of the In-
dians : Story of the Man Who Says He Saw " El Nar-
anjal": Story of "La Providencia " : The Foolish
Compadres : The Life Search of Don Modesto ... 52
CHAPTER IV
Leaving the Mines: A Last Ride: The Thoughts of a
Mozo : A Meeting on the Train : A Man is Known
by his Shoes : Pleasant Experience in Zacatecas : Ar-
rival at Mexico City: Kindness of Mexicans to Stran-
gers : The Best Way to Learn Spanish : The Plaza
CONTENTS
PAGE
Mayor : Cathedral Towers : Thoughts of the Con-
quest : The Paseo de la Reforma : A Meeting with
Diaz 82
CHAPTER V
Peaceful Morelia : Lake Patzcuaro : Tzintzuntzan : Urua-
pan and Its Boom : A Fortunate Washout : Progress
Comes to Him Who Waits : Products of Uruapan :
Ideal Climate in the Tropics : Something About Saddle-
Horses: Michoacan and the Tarascos : Burial of a
Tarasco King: Solemnity of the Indians: Their Fes-
tivals: Their Arts and Crafts 126
CHAPTER VI
Return to Mexico : Mexicans True Friends : Queretaro the
Beautiful: The Works of Tres Guerras: The Aque-
duct: A Visit to The Hill of The Bells: The Country
Remained at Peace: Guadalajara the Pearl of the
West: The City's Evening Life: In Beauty's Ranks:
The Charro Horseman : Things that are Different :
Social Customs: An Inquisitive Shopkeeper .... 158
CHAPTER VII
Visit to Lake Chapala : A Race for Dinner : A Pleasant
Swimming-Pool: Indian Fisherman: "El Presidio":
A Ride on a Mexican Coach : Trite Truths About
Silao: Sights Worth Seeing in Guanajuato: Savage
Dogs : A Method of Warfare : The Cross on the
Mountain : A Man 's a Man For A' That 184
CHAPTER VIII
Busy Leon : Pleasant Visit at the Home of Don Juan :
Golden Days in Lagos : Aguascalientes, the Land of
Hot Waters, Genial Climate and Warm Hearts : Its
Foreign Colony : Baths al Fresco : " Mochte " : Bar-
ber's Versatility : An Antique Zarape : Puebla, the City
of Angels : Its Churches : Its IMonuments : Birthday
of Uncle Sam : Difficulties of English : Abundio . . 203
CONTENTS
CHAPTER IX
PAGE
Fair Jalapa : New Scenes and Customs: A Strange Plant:
The Stone Monkey : The Cathedral : The Market :
The Plaza : Longing for Old Friends : Ancient Tlax-
cala : Historical Reminiscence: Convent of San Fran-
cisco : Meeting the Governor : El Santuario : Ro-
mance and Tragedy 231
CHAPTER X
The Fiest of Covadonga : Gayety of the Spaniard : His
Mexican Cousin Helps Him Celebrate: Epifanio's Tip:
His Version of the Spanish Conquest: The Eve of
Mexican Independence : Quaint Folk Songs : Dancing
in the Streets : Viva Mexico 258
CHAPTER XI
Anticipation: Pleasures of Mexico City: Second Visit to
Durango : Over the Mountains with Manuel: A Rainy
Day : The Voice of the Sea : Don Lucio : Snow, Sun-
shine and a Camp Under the Pines : A Lonely Maid :
Manuel's Diplomacy: Snow in the Mountains: Oranges
Keep Cold: The Ideal Camp 288
CHAPTER XII
A Night at Hotel Japones : Fear of a Storm: An Early
Start: A Mountain Rancho: Mountain Hospitality:
Recreant Mules: Forlorn Indian Family: Charm of
Mountain Travel: The Last Descent: "El Capitan":
Manuel Sings As the Journey Ends: Magnolias: A
Meeting With Bob: Home Again: The Holidays at
the Mines: Serenade and Midnight Mass: The First
Wheelbarrow: Isidro's Request: Christmas Dinner:
A Mexican Ball : The Bandit Eracleo Bernal .... 308
CHAPTER XIII
Seeing the Mine : Testing a Tenderfoot : Open Cut to
Lower Level : Exploring Ancient Tunnels : Mysterious
CONTENTS
PAGE
Voices : Castles in Spain : Something About the Peon :
The Company Store : El Diablo and the Talking Ma-
chine : Marriage an Expensive Luxury : The Peon's
Fondness for Children : Quaint Songs Heard in the
Durango Hills : The Most Interesting Thing in the
World 330
CHAPTER XIV
A Mountain Floor: Swimming the Arroyo: Dangers of
Mountain Travel: Arrival of the Mail: The Life of
Don Bias : The Silent Horseman : A Night at " Pig
Gulch " : Electric Storm in the Mountains : A Dream
City : It's a Long Ride That Has No End 358
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
A Mexican charro Frontispiece
Photographed by C. B. Waite, Mexico City.
Mexican mozo 6
Getting supper 15
Don Alfredo 15
A long journey 25
Hunting in Durango 25
Over ]\Iexico's mountains on a mule 36
Sharpening the drills 36
The pet burro 42
An old church made into an American home 42
The living-room 47
The table was covered with enamel cloth 47
The foolish compadre 61
" He kept his peons at work in the mines " 67
The funeral procession 78
Prayers in the little church 78
West side of Plaza Mayor, Mexico City 90
Zacatecas cathedral 95
Church of Guadalupe, Zacatecas 95
Paseo de la Reforma, Mexico City 104
Porfirio Diaz no
Castle of Chapultepec 114
Corridor of Chapultepec 114
Garden of Chapultepec 119
Gate to Chapultepec military college 119
San Ipolito, Mexico City, the first church built after the con-
quest 123
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Cathedral of Morelia 129
Photographed by C. B. Waite, Mexico City.
The blacksmith 138
The road to Uruapan 143
Fails of Tzar^racua, Uruapan 143
A Tarasco fiesta 154
Los gallos (cock-fight) 154
Fountain in Mexico City; monument to Cuauhtemoc in the
distance 159
Two views of the patio in the federal palace, Queretaro . . 166
The road to the hot country 171
Moonlight on Lake Chapala 192
In a Mexican garden 209
The convent 215
In a convent garden, Puebla 215
Monument of Independence, Puebla 220
Church of Our Lady de los Remedies, on the great pyramid
of Cholula 225
Bird's-eye view of Puebla, Mexico 230
Photographed by C. B. Waite, Mexico City.
On the Viga Canal 238
View east from Cortes's Palace, Cuernavaca, Mexico . . . 244
Photographed by C. B, Waite, Mexico City.
Tower and cypress-trees 249
Ixtacalco 255
Churchyard gateway 255
The Discovery of Pulque 264
Azucarilleros who sell tiny sugar figures for a few cents and
play a tune for the buyer 268
Two portraits of Epifanio — in working and gala array . . 273
Approach to Paseo de la Reforma, Mexico City 277
Street kitchens 277
National palace, Mexico City 284
Jockey Club, Mexico City, during flower carnival .... 284
Mexican rurales 301
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Manuel with pack-mules on the snow. Altitude, about 10,000
feet 315
El Capitan 315
In the valley 326
Feeding the pack-mules 326
Peon on ore dump rolling a cigarette 335
Water-carrier for the mine 335
Weighing the bead 342
The beginning of a mine 342
American mine-owners 35i
The camp mascots 35i
The foreman of the mine 361
The storekeeper 361
The singer 369
Doha Marciana on the trail 369
A
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
. . . Land of the Sun, —
Of palm, and pine, and blood-red cactus flower,-
Mysterious land, — I love thee : —
THE
MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
CHAPTER I
The Lure of Alexico: California a Stepping-Stone: Invitation
to Visit a Mexican Mine: The Outfit: A Fortunate Meet-
ing: Railroad Travel and Opinions of Fellow Travelers:
The English Race Natural Fault-Finders : Arrival at Durango:
A Vanishing Mexican Friend: Baths of Las Canoas: My
First Bull-Fight: Preparations for a Long Journey: Over
Mexico's Mountains on a Mule.
FROM boyhood I felt the hire of Mexico. Reared
in Cahfornia, where the romance of early Mexi-
can days still lingers, and where the prodigality
of nature and of life are in keeping with Mexican tradi-
tion, I ardently dreamed of this Spanish-American
southland. California is a good stepping-stone to Mexico
— at least it proved so for me. I had been living for sev-
eral years in New England, when I received an invitation
from an old California friend couched in the warm
phraseology peculiar to Californians, asking me to visit
him and his wife at his mines in Mexico. The mines
were located, he informed me, in the State of Durango.
To reach them from San Francisco, they took the boat
for Mazatlan, and from Mazatlan rode on horses or
mules for three days in the mountains, ascending as
high as ten thousand feet above the sea. In his letter he
3
4 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
referred in a matter-of-fact way to moaos (guides),
saddle-animals, pack-mules, army-saddles, rifles, fishing-
tackle and other attractive impedimenta, — to sleeping on
pine boughs by the camp-fire, to the delicious night
air of the sierra, and to the delectable dishes prepared
by the aforesaid mozos, who from all accounts were
ubiquitous and useful persons.
My friend then went on to prescribe the route by
which I should journey to this mysterious silver mine,
which lay concealed in a remote and beautiful valley,
in the heart of the Sierra Madre. It seemed that I must
approach it from the opposite direction, for he was then
on the Pacific coast and I on the Atlantic, with the moun-
tains between us. I was to proceed immediately to
Tennessee and there join a young Southern mining man,
who after visiting his home was about to return to the
famous mine La Candelaria, in San Dimas, Durango —
about a day's ride from my destination.
My friend also advised me as to my outfit, which in-
cluded a khaki riding-suit, a pair of high laced boots,
a pair of wading-boots, heavy and thin underwear, sev-
eral suits of overalls, woolen gloves, army blankets, a
cloth cap, a rifle, a revolver, fishing-rod and flies, and
a medicine-kit. All these I secured and the clothing and
blankets I packed in a pair of horse-hide trunks, weigh-
ing about 150 pounds each. These proved useful
throughout my journeys in Mexico, making a fair load
for a pack-animal, and being easily adjusted and not
hard on a mule's back. A well-chosen if abbreviated
library of favorite authors, while it added to the rail-
road charge for excess baggage, proved an inestimable
solace, not only during the year I passed in the isolated
mining region, but throughout my five years' stay in
Mexico.
Mexican mozo
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 7
I found my traveling companion an alert, able and
kindly young Southerner, and after a few days' delight-
ful hospitality in both Tennessee and Georgia, where he
had numerous farewell visits to make and where he in-
sisted on my accompanying him, we proceeded z'ia New
Orleans to Eagle Pass, crossed the Rio Grande to Ciudad
Porfirio Diaz, and went from there by rail across the
northern State of Coahuila and a strip of Zacatecas to
the junction city of Torreon, and thence to Durango,
a fine city of about 32,000 inhabitants, the capital of the
state of the same name, and situated at the foot of the
eastern slope of the Sierra Madre.
There were numbers of English-speaking men on the
train, several being Americans, all of whom were re-
turning to the mines. The concensus of opinion seemed
to be that Mexicans did not like Americans, and my
companion, whom I now addressed, at his request, as
Bob, shared this opinion. My upbringing in cosmopoli-
tan California had made me distinctly hopeful as to
human friendliness, and while I listened to what was
said, I kept my mind open for actual experience. I had
known many Mexicans in California, and I fancied the
same kindly nature I had recognized in them would be
found in their cousins across the border.
As yet I scarcely could believe that I was in the land
of Heart's Desire. The country was flat and uninter-
esting, not unlike New Mexico and Arizona, as seen from
the car windows. English was spoken by my fellow-
passengers ; and, what was even more familiar, it often
was employed in disparagement of Mexico and the
Mexicans. Fault-finding is natural to the English race.
When I inquired why they were returning to Mexico,
they related fabulous tales of wealth and adventure that
were quite past belief. I decided that I would believe
8 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
only what I saw, and I venture to counsel the reader,
when visiting a foreign land, to do likewise.
At the railroad station in Durango we hired a coach
drawn by a pair of sleek, black mules, and after turning
our luggage over to a couple of cargadorcs or porters,
drove to the hotel, where we were lodged in a spacious,
sunny room, with French windows opening on the street,
red-tiled floors, and three single iron beds placed in
a row ; the apartment having been retained by a Mexican
associate of Bob's, who was to join our cavalcade and
who now occupied one of the beds. Bob said the first
thing to do was to go for a bath and accordingly led the
way to the hotel entrance, where the coach was waiting
for us. We got in, the coachman lashed the sleek mules
into a gallop, and we set out for the baths of *' las
Canoas," which are housed in a long, low, white build-
ing, about ten-minutes' drive from the center of the city.
The proprietor, a portly, benign-looking man, who was
seated in the porch, greeted Bob affably. He then called
a mozo (this term is generally applied throughout Mex-
ico to a male servant), and the latter led us to a large
room, with a window opening into a garden, where we
could see orange trees and flowers. In the center of
the room there was a huge tank, perhaps eight feet
square and four feet deep, empty and spotlessly clean,
with steps leading down to the bottom. The mozo
brought fresh straw mats, two large cotton sheets, rough
towels, a little toilet glass with fittings, soap and ::acate
(fiber), which does service as a sponge. The soap and
zacate were in small, tin dishes which float on the water,
and are thus near at hand when required. He next
pulled out a wooden plug in the side of the tank and a
torrent of water gushed in, filling the tank to the height
of a man's waist ere we could divest ourselves of our
THE ]\IAN WHO LIKES ME^CICO 9
clothing. Bob jumped in without ado ; but I paused on
the top step and dipped in a wary toe to try the water.
Finding it only a trifle cooler than body temperature, I
too made the plunge and reveled in the soft, greenish-
clear water, which carries iron and sulphur. All the
cities of Mexico are favored with fine baths, but for
delightful water and arrangements I commend " las
Canoas " of Durango.
Returning to our hotel, where the small mules drew
us at a gallop, we were in an excellent mood for dinner;
and while it was good enough and everything deliciously
flavored, I was amazed at the numberless meat courses
and the great lack of vegetables. First came a soup,
then rice with a meaty flavor, this being called " dry
soup," next eggs in any style one preferred, and then
meat, meat, meat, with different colored gravies and
well-cooked, to be sure, but scarcely what one would
expect in a hot climate and in the midst of prolific vege-
tation. Dinner ended with delicious frijoles (black
beans), coffee, a sweet, and, I am glad to record, oranges
and bananas.
The next day being Sunday, we went to the bull-fight.
I was not consulted, our seats, like our beds, having been
engaged weeks ago by this same obliging but disappear-
ing friend of Bob's, who never retired until after we
were asleep, nor awoke until long after we had arisen.
I finally met him and was glad to thank him for his
forethought and careful arrangement for our comfort;
but beyond one or two fleeting conversations, our ac-
quaintance progressed no further. Bob excused his
constant absence by explaining that he was a calavera
(sport).
And now for my first bull-fight : it was a strong, fierce,
tense experience that comes back as vividly to-day as it
10 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
did — say the week after. It took me quite a week to
recover a normal sense of discrimination. The Durango
plaza was large and massively built. When we entered
we found an immense crowd of people, from every
social grade ; the aristocrats, elegantly attired, agreeable
in looks and manner, filled the boxes ; the occupants of
the first-class benches, characterized as la Somhra, or
shady side, included hosts of Americans and Europeans;
while the multitude thronged the sunny side of the arena
called el Sol, and it was el sol indeed with all the blaze
of a cloudless afternoon. And there, beneath the in-
tense blue of the Mexican heavens, the sport that in
more senses than one is tragedy was enacted. The band
struck up " El Toreador," the pageant entered, and the
fight began. A savage little black Mexican bull made
his entrance, flaunting a gaudy ribbon from the tiny
steel dart jabbed into his shoulder as he cleared the gate.
The picadores on their wretched, blindfolded hacks
began prodding him with lances. With his sharp horns
he caught one of the shambling horses and disem-
boweled him. The picadores retired and the band-
erilleros performed graceful and daring acts, luring the
bull to charge, then lightly swerving, to avoid his on-
slaught, and planting the banderillos in his neck as he
lurched past. The multitude in el Sol, highly pleased,
began shouting. The little bull made a swift rush,
sprang into the air, all feet ofif the ground, got his fore-
legs over the first paling — at least five feet high, and
plunged over it into the narrow lane between it and the
audience, scattering the attendants in every direction.
But he was driven back into the ring, and there he
received the death-thrust from the sword of the matador,
the star of the performance. A spike-team of white
mules adorned with ribbons and bells then dashed in and
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO ii
as rapidly out again, drawing the dead bull. The music
struck up, another bull sprang into the arena, and the
show went on. Seven bulls were killed, I can describe
my state only as one of dazed excitement. What hap-
pened after we quitted the bull-ring I cannot recall. I
felt exhausted and retired early, only to wake repeatedly
with a sense of nightmare. The next morning, on wak-
ing, I had much difficulty in realizing that the scenes of
the previous day were not a dream.
Bob now devoted himself to securing a mozo and
animals for our journey. The friend, it seemed, could
not tear himself away from the charming night-life of
Durango ; and while he continued to occupy his bed by
day, I did not again meet him, clothed and in his right
mind, "so to speak. I cherish memories, however, of
an affable and obliging man. Our preparations for the
mountains I found intensely interesting. In the first
place I must buy a mule for myself. Then my Cali-
fornia friend, who will figure in these pages as Don
Alfredo, that being his name in the Mexican mining
regions, had commissioned Bob to purchase for him the
best saddle-mule he could find, the Durango mules being
famed for their easy pace. Bob, who was a judge of
mules, secured a prize for $ioo Mexican money. She
was coal-black, slender as a thoroughbred, with an
easy trot, a good running gait, and as gentle as the
proverbial kitten. Her name was " Queen." The beast
I chose was the next best to be had in the market. She
was fairly good-looking, dark brown in color, and had an
excellent gait, half-pace, half-singlefoot. She cost me
$70 Mexican money. She had no name, it appeared, and
though I called her " Rhea," and tried to cultivate her
friendship, she seemed endowed with native distrust
of the " Gringo " ; and while she carried me patiently
12 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
for a year, she was as reserved at parting as when I
first acquired her. These two mules were as unlike in
character as any two human beings could possibly be.
Bob now engaged as mozo a somewhat saturnine-looking
party, who was reputed to be a good guide, a mule for
the mozo to ride, another to carry our grub-box and
blankets; and after purchasing our provisions and neces-
sary cooking outfit, we were at last prepared to invade
the fastnesses of the impregnable Sierras, which loomed
purple in the distance, the white clouds floating about
their summits, beyond which lay mystery and adventure.
Have you ever ridden over the mountains of Mexico
on a mule? If not there is joy before you — provided
that you love the mountains, and long days of brilliant
sunshine, and cloudless, starlit nights. It goes without
saying that the time for such a ride is the dry season,
which begins in October and with few variations lasts
until the ensuing May.
Choose a mule by all means — a mare makes the best
saddle-animal — and after you have ridden her a day, you
will feel absolute confidence in the creature. A Mexican
mule takes no chances. She springs lightly over a
heap of dead leaves on the trail, rather than risk a pos-
sibly concealed pitfall, and leaps from one boulder to
another with the agility of a cat. If overtaken by dark-
ness, you may drop your bridle-rein on your mule's neck,
and be perfectly secure in her caution and judgment.
With her nose close to the narrow and often dangerous
trail, that you no longer see, she will follow it as un-
erringly as a dog follows the scent.
In the mountains, the heat is seldom oppressive save at
midday. Then your mozo finds a cool spot, near a
stream if possible, for your luncheon and siesta. Your
mozo is nearly always a cheerful, obliging individual, of
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 13
sanguine temperament, trained to servitude and hard-
ship, expecting httle, yet accepting without effusiveness
any Httle luxuries you may care to bestow. After a long
day's ride, he unsaddles the animals, has a fire blazing
in a jiffy, and cooks your supper; while you lie on the
ground and stretch your tired legs, inhaling the grateful
fumes of meat on the coals. You are ravenous, and for
the moment supper is of more importance than anything
else in life. If you have provided well, you are soon
devouring a steak, broiled as only a mozo can broil, hot
tortillas (corn cakes), frijoles (beans) and perhaps
tamalcs. Then comes a steaming cup of black coffee,
and with pipe or cigarro for company, you roll yourself
in your blankets and lazily watch the stars, the camp-
fire, — and listen to the wind in the trees until — you
stretch yourself luxuriously with the feeling that you
have been asleep and behold your mozo calmly prepar-
ing breakfast, while the animals, near at hand, are munch-
ing their corn. It is four o'clock. You have slept eight
solid hours and must be off at the crack of dawn, in
order that you may rest when the heat comes. You
may have rolled in, more tired than ever before in your
life. You awake, rested in every limb, feeling that you
could run, leap, sing — so wonderful is this mountain
air.
Then too — the pine woods, through which you ride
for hours, frequently for days — there is magic in their
balm for weary bodies and tired nerves. You will try
to analyze the peculiar charm that pervades your entire
journey. Perhaps it partly lies in the endless vista of
mountains beyond, in the feeling that this free existence
must go on forever. You gain a ciimhre or summit, ten
thousand feet above sea level, and gazing over miles of
forest and meadow, you behold another mountain, its
14 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
crest enveloped in white mist, and you know that to-
morrow you will tread its height. When it is gained,
there are still more mountains before you, more beautiful
in contour and color, and the charm never fails.
You may ride for days without meeting a human be-
ing, but now and again you hear your mozo singing, as
he follows with the pack-animals, and you are never
lonesome. Should you pass a rancho, you will find there
fresh eggs, milk and delicious cheese and a roof for the
night if you desire. The house and all it contains are at
your service while you remain, and you have a struggle
to make the owners accept a cent in return. Though
almost invariably poor, these mountain folk have hos-
pitality bred in the bone and a gentle, innate courtesy.
I often found that a gift of coffee, tobacco, sugar and
such luxuries were more acceptable and less mortifying
to them than money. It seemed more like an exchange
of kindnesses.
But mountain journeys, like all pleasant experiences,
must end. Perhaps your goal is some ancient Spanish
mine, long since abandoned, from which fabulous wealth
was taken centuries ago, and which will yet make you
rich beyond your wildest dreams. Such mines have been
bought in Mexico for a song, and many more remain.
But whether you gain a fortune or not, one good you
have had past losing — the joy of long, health-giving
days and restful nights ; and their memory will remain
with you and haunt you, till some fine day will see you
again in the saddle, astride your nimble mule, bound
for the mountain heights of sunny Mexico.
The inevitable delays which always attend the be-
ginning of a journey in Mexico were not lacking in Du-
rango, and it was ten o'clock before we were ready to
start. Finally our mozo appeared with his pack-mule.
Getting supper
Don Alfredo
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 17
the grub-box and light traveling baggage were loaded
and lashed in place with rawhide reatas or ropes, and
Bob, mounted on the black mule, headed our cavalcade,
with myself next and the mozo and pack-animal bring-
ing up the rear.
The ascent began at the outskirts of the city, where
the foot-hills led up gradually to the mountains. The
beginning of the ride was hot and dusty, and by noon
the heat was intense. At one o'clock we crossed a shal-
low barranca with a sluggish stream, and Bob called a
halt for luncheon. As there was no shade, we sat on
the banks of the stream in the broiling sun, while the
mozo started a fire, and cutting off a huge chunk of beef,
he impaled it on a pointed stake and began singeing it
in the flames. I was just owning to an inward feeling
of disappointment at the inept culinary efforts of the
mozo, when Bob began openly to express his disap-
proval, and declared that he himself could cook far
better. He accordingly produced some bacon and a
frying-pan, and also brewed some excellent coffee.
With the addition of rolls we made a meal, while the
mozo, left to his own devices, devoured the beef to the
last morsel. His bloodshot eye and sullen manner now
excited Bob's suspicion, and coming on him unexpectedly,
while feeding the mules, he found him drinking mczcal
from a quart bottle. As it was nearly empty, there was
nothing to do but make the best of a bad bargain —
and this he proved. A more surly dog I never en-
countered ; indeed all the other mozos I subsequently
knew were quite up to what I had heard of them in
excellence.
In mountain travel, distances are not calculated in
miles but in hours or days, this resulting in considerable
vagueness as to the chance of arriving anywhere. From
i8 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
the barranca to the rancho where we intended to sleep
that night was, according to the mozo, a matter of four
hours. At the expiration of four hours, however, no
rancho was in sight, and we rode for two hours more
before we arrived, it being then nearly eight o'clock.
This indefiniteness as to time and distance, at first ex-
asperating, finally becomes a matter of course ; and I
may say I have never yet arrived at any place in the
mountains at the time the mozo predicted.
The owner of the rancho was a fat, good-natured
man, who received us pleasantly, assured us his house
was ours, and invited us to join him at supper. We
were glad enough to avail ourselves of his hospitality
and though his beds were without springs we were
asleep almost as soon as our heads touched the pillows,
which were of wool and stuffed as hard as rocks. The
first day of a journey is always trying and after nine
hours in the saddle I was weary to exhaustion. To my
surprise I awoke in the morning without a particle of
fatigue or soreness, and this has always been my ex-
perience in the mountains.
On this, our second day, we made an early start. We
had a long ride ahead, to make a favorable camp for the
night, and Bob set the pace at a spanking trot. I had
slung my rifle at one side of my saddle and my fishing
rod at the other, and felt rather pleased with my outfit ;
but after we had ridden three hours, during which we
had made good headway, I discovered that my fishing
rod had become loosed from its moorings and disap-
peared. It was a fine, jointed rod and I did not want
to lose it; so shouting to Bob that I would soon over-
take him, I turned my mule about and began racing back
over the trail ; but not a sign of the rod did I see. The
thought that every moment I was putting a greater dis-
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 19
tance between the others and myself was not comforting,
especially as I knew nothing of the country and did not
speak enough Spanish to ask a direction even if I met a
living soul, which I did not. Giving up the search I
started to overtake Bob and the mozo, and now I ob-
served, for the first time, that frequently the trail forked,
so that I was in doubt which one to follow. Fortunately
no other animals had passed since our own and I was
able to make out the hoof-marks in the trail and after
two hours' hard riding I overtook them. A year later,
while paying a visit to a mine owned by Americans, the
storekeeper handed me a note scrawled on a piece of
wrapping paper, and addressed to " Sehor Americano,"
asking if by any chance it was for me. It ran as follows :
" I found on the Durango trail a bag and it had four
yellow sticks and a gun-wiper; you can stop at my
rancho when you go back and get it by paying for the
same." There was no signature, and while the store-
keeper, who was a Mexican, knew the man and told
me where his rancho was, he did not know his name or
nationality, — he asserted, however, that he was an cx-
tranjero (foreigner). Another year passed, and on my
way out from the mines I passed by the rancho and in-
quired for the extranjero. The place was occupied by
Mexicans, and to all my inquiries they placidly answered
" Qiiicn sahc?" I only learned that he had gone away
and he doubtless took the " four yellow sticks and the
gun-wiper " with him.
The second night shortly after sundown we reached
a fine camping place in the pines, beside a clear stream.
The mozo, who was suffering the aftermath of his spree,
was still in a partial stupor. Bob, therefore, constituted
himself chef once more, while he set the mozo to col-
lecting dry logs for the night fire. We were now at an
20 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
altitude of about seven thousand feet and at this height
the air cools with great rapidity after sunset. After
supper Bob piled some big logs on the fire and then
showed me how to make my bed ; in this operation every
available article is utilized, including saddle and saddle-
cloths. The mules after eating their corn, were hobbled
and allowed to graze at will, and we were glad to crawl
into our beds and go to sleep.
About midnight I was awakened by the cold, which, de-
spite the fire, was intense. There was no wind, and the
heavens were bright with enormous stars, that seemed
very near, with a subsidiary spangling of small stars
that made one think of diamond dust. Notwithstanding
my army blankets and a thick rug I was shaking with
the cold and Bob, waking at the same instant, proposed
that we move our beds together and thus obtain double
covering from our blankets. This we did, and with the
additional warmth of our bodies we were soon comfort-
able again and slept soundly. The mozo, who had only
his ordinary zarape or blanket, had wrapped it about his
head and mouth, and was crouching over the fire.
The next day we descended several thousand feet and
found the valley intensely hot. Bob had been at con-
siderable tension from the beginning of our journey,
and the hot weather together with the sullen mozo were
irritating him greatly. While our acquaintance had
been too brief for an exchange of confidences, I gathered
that he held a position of trust at the mines, and that
after a prolonged absence, due partly to previous illness,
he was anxious to be again at his post. As he neared his
destination his anxiety increased. In his early twenties,
of Southern family and with the nervous, eager temper
imparted by Celtic race, very ambitious and excited by
the lure of the mines, at the period when a young man's
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 21
blood courses swiftly, he had been drawn into the fever-
ish business until it wholly possessed him.
I had never before realized the relentless cruelty of
this pursuit of gold — or rather of silver, which is twice
as bad, because you must obtain twice as much. True,
I was also bound for the mines ; but, whether it be for
good or ill, the pursuit of gold has ever failed to absorb
my attention for long. Sometimes it seems a defect of
character, but I try to analyze it in vain. Not that I
do not want gold and what gold can buy; but life is so
rich, so full, so insistent — and gold is so elusive ! It is
as though life were forever pressing, full-handed, its
treasure upon us — the beauty of the world, love, friend-
ship ; while gold, which offers itself grudgingly, can not
confer any of the gifts that life so freely bestows.
I could not but feel sad about Bob, so young and
generous, with all his bright day-dreams depending on
one thing only — the acquisition of gold. For him the
purple, distant mountains had no meaning, save that
perhaps they concealed rich veins of ore. The clear,
leaping streams were good for one thing alone — to turn
a turbine wheel in an ore mill. The sunset had no
charm — for it came too soon, forcing us into camp
when he would be farther on the way. The boy fretted
and fumed and goaded the ugly niozo into a fury, and
the latter, taking it out on the pack-mule, lashed the
poor beast until she dropped in her tracks and refused
to get up again. So here we were in a pretty fix, — with
mule and grub-box on the ground.
Fortunately at this moment we heard a whistle and
then the sound of hoofs and a ranchman appeared,
mounted on a stocky roan horse with a thick, long black
mane and tail. Bob immediately asked him if he wanted
to sell. The ranchman said he did not, but so insistent
22 THE MAN WHO UKES MEXICO
was Bob and so tempting the roll of money he flourished
before the man's eyes, the latter began to hesitate and
finally said he would take seventy dollars for the horse,
which Bob promptly counted out and gave him. The
mozo's saddle was now transferred to the roan, the grub-
box and blankets to the other mule, and the pack-mule,
which still lay on the ground, was commended to the
care of the ranchman, whose rancho was not far off, and
who promised to get the tired beast on its feet and care
for it until the mozo should return and claim it. Bob
seemed highly pleased with his new purchase. He had
the Southerner's love of horse-flesh, and he now recalled
the old saying about the staying powers of a roan or a
gray. This beast had an ugly mouth, and when the
mozo mounted him he stood up on his hind legs and
pawed the air. It was now the mozo's turn to be pleased
and the result of this horse trade was an improvement
in the spirits of the entire party.
Bob now proposed that as we had lost so much time
and it was desirable we should make a rancho for the
night, we should content ourselves with a handful of
provender from the grub-box and push on. He said
we had still a long ride to the rancho, and I readily
acquiesced. As for the mozo, he was as pleased with the
fiery little roan as a child with a toy ; and if he ate any-
thing between breakfast and supper I did n't see him.
Eating seems a matter of chance rather than a regular
system with a mozo. If it so happens, he eats three
meals a day. If it does n't happen, he bides his time,
and then tucks away enough to make up for the meals
he has missed. I never heard a Mexican mozo emit the
slightest complaint about discomfort or privation, though
I often have seen him suffer both.
The sun went down and signs of the rancho there
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 23
were none. The mozo calmly averred that it was " just
over there," pointing to the next hill ahead of us; but
as he had said this of the four preceding hills, and each
had presented nothing but more hills in perspective,
I began to think he knew no more about the proximity
of the rancho than we did.
We were anxious to arrive though it was to be our last
night together, the rancho lying at the point where our
trails divided. Bob would keep straight on the main
trail, arriving at the Candelaria mine the next night ;
while I was to branch ofif on to a comparatively untrav-
eled one, which should lead me to the Huahuapan dis-
trict. Before we left Durango, Bob telegraphed his
mine, asking them to send a mozo to the rancho to act
as my guide to Huahuapan ; it being necessary to engage
a mozo who belonged in that part of the mountains and
who knew the route to this mysterious valley which was
my destination.
It was now quite dark and I was beginning to fear we
had missed the trail, when on crossing another low hill
we saw a blazing fire straight ahead and heard a most
amazing sound ; it was nothing more nor less than the
squeaking of a fiddle accompanied by the monotonous
beating of a drum. We could now distinguish the low
outline of buildings and several figures about the fire.
It is the custom in these parts to build a bonfire at night
in the corral before the ranch-house ; and it is not at
all a bad custom, affording as it does an opportunity to
take the fresh air and enjoy the blaze at the same time.
Arriving at the fire, we learned that the owner of the
rancho was away on a journey, and the place was in
charge of the Indian peones. The fiddler, it seemed, was
a stray nomad who had stopped over night, and was
doubtless paying for his entertainment with his tunes.
24 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
The drum, the peones told us, had been left at the
rancho, quien sabe how, why, or by whom, and one of
their number had the happy inspiration of beating it to
accompany the fiddler. With the equanimity that ob-
tains in Mexico, neither of the performers stopped for
one moment on our account; and the effect produced
by the weird tune and the incessant, dull note of the
drum was strange and savage. Add to this the motion-
less forms of the other peones and the huge wavering
shadows cast by the fire, and you have a strange scene,
which was not lessened by the arrival, from out the
darkness, of our cavalcade.
I had already begun to have the experience of wonder-
ing whether anything really was strange after all ; and
while Mexico in general is conducive to this, the moun-
tains are especially so. I believe that these mountain
people are chastened and humbled by the stupendous ex-
pressions of nature which always surround them. The
peones, while perfectly apathetic to us, made no objec-
tion to our cooking our meal at the fire and sleeping in
a small, dungeon-like outhouse. The main dwelling was
locked and barred and not to be opened on any account
until the master's return.
The serious thing was the failure of my mozo to put
in an appearance, the only possible explanation being
that Bob's wire did not go through; but this did not
seem nearly so strange to me as that it should have gone
through. There was something incredible in the thought
of telegraph wires crossing those stupendous mountains ;
and while Bob assured me that they did so, I extracted
from him the admission that the wires were down a
good part of the time and that they probably were
down now.
He also told me a diverting if somewhat disturbing
bi^.i
A long journey
... J
Hunting in Durango
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 27
tale about the mails. He said the mail bag was carried
by special mozos, between the mines and the nearest post-
offices, which were usually the trivial distance of from
two to three days' journey. The mozo went on foot.
Why? Because he knew short cuts that no mule could
travel. On mule-back it would take twice as long. Not
many months since, Bob said, he despatched the mail
mozo with a large batch of correspondence, and as he
was gone much longer than he should be, he sent an-
other mozo to look for him. The second mozo came
across the first, asleep in the woods and very drunk.
Beside him was the rifled mail-bag with the remains of
letters he had opened, not apparently with justifiable
intent. Only a small portion of the letters were there,
however, and it developed that, growing tired of his in-
nocent pastime, he had thrown the balance into the
river. I must add in justice to the tribe of mozos that
my letters were carried by one for more than a year, and
that I never missed a piece of mail to my knowledge.
While I was spreading my blankets on the dirt floor
of the small dungeon referred to, the music stopped.
Presently Bob entered and remarked that he had paid
the fiddler and the drummer liberally and that as the
former said he knew the Huahuapan trail, he had en-
gaged him to act as my guide, for the moderate sum
of six dollars. I begged him to call me when he awoke
the following morning, so that I might take leave of
him then, and also start away from the rancho at the
same time that he did. That nothing impressed me any
longer as strange or unusual was indicated by my not
giving a second thought to my new guide, though I was
aware that Bob had never set eyes on him before. The
mountains, I think, had normalized me too and I slept
peacefully.
CHAPTER II
A Ride in the Dark: Misgivings: The Fiddler-Guide: Wolf-
Face: No Stop for Dinner: Beautiful Mountain Scenery:
Ten Hours of Suspense: Wayside Crosses: Valley of
Huahuapan: Reunion with Friends: Work and Play: Life
in a Mexican Pueblo: A Beautiful Box: A Bad Peon.
I AWOKE to a sense of suffocation and of foul air
charged with the odors of mule trappings, sad-
dles and blankets, with a lurking substratum of
smells that attach to unventilated rooms which have been
slept in by countless human beings. The mozo was per-
forming a muffled tattoo on the door. I knew his voice
though his words were unintelligible, and lighting a
match, found it was four o'clock. Bob was sleeping as
sound as a log and I had to shake him. The poor boy
was drugged with sleep and bad air. I have never gotten
over feeling a sort of pity for children and young people
in the throes of sleep. There is something pitiable in
their struggles to break the lethargy that holds them, and
that doubtless is a response to their nervous and physical
needs.
Bob suddenly roused himself, sprang up and began
folding his blankets ; we had few preparations to make,
for anticipating a hurried departure, we had thrown
ourselves down without removing our clothing, and with
our boots on. Opening the door, we found the mozo
waiting for our saddles, and I discovered that the mules
were there too, — that is I felt and heard them. It was
pitch dark, the only light being shed from a blazing
28
THE MAN WHO UKES MEXICO 29
pine-knot held by a motionless Indian. Bob hurriedly
shook hands and bade me good-by, promising that we
should meet soon. Then he got on his mule — the mozo
was already in the saddle — there was the quick scurry
of unshod hoofs, and the party was swallowed up by
the black forest.
I was aware of further saddling operations under way,
and my mule was dragged, rather than led, to where I
was standing. It seemed ungracious in her, now that
she was the only remaining acquaintance left me, to
snort and pull back at sight of me. I began to feel
very much alone. The mysterious personage who
brought my mule had his neck and chin muffled in a
zarape and I presumed he was the fiddler who was to
act as my guide.
It occurred to me that our grub-box was on the pack-
mule and that the pack-mule was off with Bob. The
ranch-house showed no light or sign of life. I appealed
to the Indian, who remained motionless supporting the
torch, and having no Spanish at my command, began
talking to him in English. His true propensity to act as
caryatid was now apparent, for apart from rolling his
eyes, he gave no evidence of hearing. My common sense
told me that what I needed was the Spanish name for
some article of food. At first I thought in vain. Then
I recalled California, and with it came the word tamalcs.
Again his eyes rolled but now he shook his head. This
was encouraging for he evidently understood. Again I
thought, and again recovered a word — tortillas. Who
that knows California has not seen these round, wafer-
like corn-cakes ? At this the Indian came to life, grunted
something in the folds of his zarape, and shuffled off to
the ranch-house. Returning, he thrust into my hands
a clammy, soggy mass which proved to be a number of
30 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
huge tortillas, about eight inches in diameter and nearly
half an inch thick. I learned later that this variety is
known as gordas, the name deriving from the adjective
gorda, which means thick or fat, and that it is employed
on journeys. In my gratitude I gave the Indian what
loose silver I had, and wrapping the gordas in my bath-
towel, I stowed them in my saddle-bags, mounted my
reluctant mule, and motioned the fiddler to lead the way.
The latter, who as yet had not spoken, got on his own
beast, and without turning his head said something that
was evidently a farewell to the Indian, who responded.
The Indian's voice, while monotonous, was not unpleas-
ant ; but the fiddler's voice — how to qualify it ! Harsh,
cracked — no, it was canine, between a snarl and a whine.
I began to feel curious to see the owner of that unhuman
voice.
My mule followed the fiddler's beast, nose to crupper,
for she was strange to those mountains and as yet there
was no sign of dawn. The air was cool and delicious
with the night-odors of the woods, and as it dispelled
the poisonous emanations I had breathed during the
night, my mind grew clear and alert. The consolation
that Nature gives to men was now revealed to me in an
extraordinary way. I knew from their odor that we
were in the pines ; their branches brushed my face, some-
times not very gently ; again my knee was grazed by a
tree-trunk, my mule being unable in the dark to gauge
the required leeway. There was something friendly
about those pine trees and w-hile I felt the strangeness of
the illimitable, vast mountains, I experienced comfort in
being among those trees, which were like the trees of my
native land.
I was eager for daybreak, and was tempted to revamp
a certain aeed maxim to the strain, " A looked-for dawn
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 31
never comes." It came, by imperceptible changes, from
dark to dusk — then gray. The rainy season was close
at hand and the sky was overcast with rain clouds.
The first light was suffused with mist, and my first view
of the fiddler was as through a veil of gauze. The ap-
parition revealed to me was certainly a strange one. He
was easily six feet when he stood upright. His mount
was a small, scrawny, buckskin mare, with a black wisp
of a tail. He sat her with a forward crouch, and his
stirrups barely cleared the ground. Even then he rode
with a high stirrup, just resting the toes of his huge bare
feet, while his legs flopped in unison with every move
of his wiry little mustang. He made me think of noth-
ing so much as a great wolf on horseback. Then he
turned his head clear round, without swerving his body,
and looked at me, and I saw what I may describe, without
exaggeration, as a wolf-face. He was not dark but
yellow, horribly scarred by pox, with a reddish mane
of hair and scant, scrubby whiskers depending from
neck and chin. His disgusting mouth was toothless,
save for isolated and prodigiously long, projecting fangs.
But the worst of all were his eyes, — narrow, slit-like, with
blood-red rims, — not cruel nor vindictive ; for an instant
I was puzzled, then it came over me like a flash — they
were not human! They were shallow, alert, watchful,
like the eyes of a dog or a wolf.
I think I know a man by his eyes ; it is there I look
for revelations, whether good or bad. And as I be-
lieve in the saving grace in almost every human being,
I am willing to take a chance with a man. But when
I encounter, in the head of a man, eyes that lack the
human light, I am filled with doubt and distrust; for
there seems nothing to take hold of. Such were the
eyes of my guide. Several times he turned and looked
32 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
at me, and although I nodded to him with the hope of
estabHshing relations, he made no sign nor sound.
It was now broad day. The sun appeared above the
mountains to the east, and it became very hot. I felt
as though freed from a sort of spell or enchantment,
which in my case had induced a previous sense of con-
tentment and supreme trust. I began to take stock of
my situation, with a rapid survey of the events of the
past two weeks.
I had taken train at Boston and journeyed to the
Mexican border with the usual railway train environ-
ment. Bob's society had added a piquant element, and
his saz'oir faire in Mexico had made the transition easy
for me. Again in the mountains, Bob taking all as a
matter of course, I had done the same. But last and
principally, there was a matter-of-course finality per-
taining to Mexico's psychology. This affects every one
sooner or later. Obviously it had affected me sooner ;
and I found myself in the heart of a great wilderness,
journeying I knew not whither, in the wake of the most
repulsive and fearsome man I had ever encountered. I
realized what a fool I had been to accept for a guide
one who was not known even at the rancho ; and while
I wished I had stuck to Bob, I did not blame him. With
the thoughtlessness of youth he had seized on the first
way out of our dilemma. I, being his senior, should
have employed ordinary caution. I resolved that I would
make the best of the situation, and give Wolf-Face no
hint of my uneasiness. From that instant, while I as-
sumed an assured demeanor, I never for a second re-
laxed my vigilance.
I was aware that our order of march was wrong; for
in Mexico the mozo or guide takes the rear : but I de-
termined that Wolf -Face should never get behind me.
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 33
He displayed a dangerous-looking revolver in his belt,
and also a long, leather-encased knife. I did not doubt
he was an adept with either or both. I cudjeled my
brain for some Spanish mandatory word, thinking that
for the sake of morale I should give an occasional order.
He was crossing a tiny, clear rivulet, which cut the trail,
and my intense thirst made me involuntarily cry,
" Agna!" He turned and I held up my drinking cup.
I can see him now, as he slid off his mustang and came
slinking back along the trail after the cup. Swiftly
crouching he filled it and as he handed it, removed his
hat with his left hand and fawned against my mule,
leering up at me with his shallow eyes. I knew some-
how that he would try for the rear, and when he
cringed again and motioned for me to pass ahead, I
had another inspiration. " Andale!" I said in a bored
voice. Bob used to say " Andale ! " at minute-intervals
to the Durango coachmen. It really means " walk ! "
but it is the common mandate for " hurry ! " At this he
scrambled astride his mustang and went on, looking
back repeatedly, as though he feared I w^ould turn and
vanish. But I had no such intention. My revolver was
close at my hand and so was my rifle, and I knew I
could hold my own so long as I kept him in the lead.
I thought of the long distance separating me from
civilization, as represented by Durango. For three days
we had been journeying into the mountains, and now,
on the fourth, the country was the wildest I had seen.
Still it was beautiful, with a savage, awe-inspiring beauty.
The thread-like trail, which must have been long aban-
doned, lay midway along the side of precipitous cliffs,
whose heights towered thousands of feet overhead, and
whose declivities fell in almost sheer descent thousands
of feet below. The rock formations, of red sandstone.
34 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
were equal in grandeur to those of Colorado, and for long
intervals their imposing splendor^ enhanced by the
majesty of the pine forests and the intense blue of the
heavens, made me forget my uneasiness. Then I would
encounter the stare of those shallow eyes. They seemed
to say, " Keep it up as long as you can. You will wear
out in the end ! "
While the trail had been long in disuse, I saw small
wooden crosses at intervals, marking the spot where a
death had occurred. I had heard that on these moun-
tain trails it was usually a death of violence — from
shooting or with the knife. There came to my mind
a story I had heard at the hotel in Durango of an
American who, while prospecting for mines in these
mountains, became separated from his companions.
They found his body, weeks later, with his revolver
lying near his hand. I concluded that my case was not
so bad as his, for Wolf-Face, at least, knew where we
were going.
The sun was now high overhead. Wolf-Face stopped
at another small stream, and began with clawing ges-
tures to simulate eating or rather tearing food. He
also pointed to a slight recess ofif the trail where we
might dismount, it being his obvious wish to stop for
dinner. For an instant I wavered, being half-famished ;
but my distrust was strong. With a peremptory
" Andale ! " I motioned him on ; and on he went, with
occasional furtive, backward glances that taxed my com-
posure. I had neglected my watch the night before,
so even this remnant of ordinary existence was denied
me; but I judged from the position of the sun it
was about two o'clock. As I had not yet eaten a
mouthful, I drew forth a huge gorda and tried to eat.
Over Mexico's mountains on a niuie
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 37
It was coarse, cold, and unsavory ; but I was faint for
food, and forced myself to swallow. I now thought of
my flask, which was a parting gift from friends. It
was filled with tequila, the native brandy made from the
root of the maguey. Until then I had scarcely tasted it,
but I filled the cup to the brim, and as I drained the
fiery liquor I thought of my friends. The stuff put life
into me, and what with another gorda to stop the burn-
ing and another draught to wash down the gorda, I
managed to revive the inner man.
Wolf -Face now performed the first human act I had
observed. He had watched me attentively and no doubt
noted my flask. Coming to another rivulet, he alighted
on the trail, and held out his hand for my drinking-cup.
The water was ice-cold and delicious. After drinking,
I filled the cup with tequila and gave it to him. He
took it at one gulp, but after it, he stood almost erect,
and for the first time I saw in him the semblance of a
man. Immoral was it, — and unethical? I have naught
to say in extenuation, except that I was determined to
win.
At what I presumed to be about five o'clock, the sun
passed below the mountain rim, and my heart sank with
it. Night would come — not rapidly — but it would
come. Wolf-Face was gazing back again. Again he
clawed the air, but now he was pointing. From the
wide, free sweep of his arm I saw he was pointing
over immeasurable distance to something far below in
the valley. Wild hope sprang up in my breast and I
peered into the valley. At last I distinguished something
like a shining, silver ribbon. Surely that must be the
little river ! And beside it, I could make out rectangu-
lar, brown objects. The roofs of adobe huts of course!
38 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
It must be — it was — " Huahuapan ! " barked Wolf-
Face excitedly. It was the first sound he had uttered
all day.
The trail now made an abrupt turn down the side of
the mountain, which was covered with dense chaparral,
and the huts were lost to view. Soon we came to the
crest of a slight rise, preparatory to another descent, and
I saw them again. From then on I had occasional
cheering glimpses of the pueblo, where I hoped my
friends awaited me ; and each time the huts appeared
larger. The trail was precipitous and dangerous, but
my mule, whatever her shortcomings, was sure-footed ;
and on that perilous ride she won my confidence which
she never forfeited later by either stumbling or falling.
It was two hours after we sighted the pueblo when we
gained the floor of the valley, forded the stream, which
proved to be a foaming torrent reaching to my mule's
belly, and some thirty feet across, and entered the small,
ruined pueblo of Huahuapan, where I received a wel-
come from my friend Don Alfredo and his wife, truly
Calif ornian in its afifectionate fervor.
Being but human, I now made light of the difficulties
through which I lately had passed, and even refrained
from mentioning my distrust of the fiddler. Indeed I
scarcely gave him a thought in the pleasure and wonder
of this meeting. My friends had started from San
Francisco, I from Boston, and after journeying three
thousand miles on opposite sides of the continent, our
routes had converged and at last met in this isolated,
semi-savage pueblo, four and a half days on mule-back
from a steamboat or a railroad, with cordoncs or ranges,
ten thousand feet high, dividing us from both. As I
am a truthful man, I will confess that we were led on
this hard and perilous journey by the prospect of untold
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 39
riches in the old, abandoned mines of the Huahuapan
district.
Don Alfredo and his wife had reached the pueblo
several weeks before my arrival, and I was amazed to
find them engaged in living and working in genuine
American fashion. He had already sampled and assayed
the ore from the various old workings, and had thirty
odd peones in two different prospects, wliich he said we
would take a look at on the next morning.
Dona Marciana, as the people styled her, had been
busily employed in making a home. The first requisite
was a roof, but this was hard to find in a place where
roofs were, as a rule, in the last stages of collapse.
Fortunately a whole one was found and the owner was
w^illing to rent. It covered one enormous room,
plastered outside and in with adobe mud ; the floor was
adobe and there was one window with wooden bars and
a door. She had never thought much of whitewash
before, but one learns to appreciate the humblest agents,
when they are hard to get. To obtain whitewash, an
Indian had to be despatched into the mountains with
burros to fetch the lime. It took him two days. Then
he had to mix the stuff and make a sort of mop to
daub it on with, which took another day. Thus a week
passed, but at the end the room was snow white from
base to ceiling, and no sala, frescoed by a master, was
ever hailed with more delight. The room was large,
some twenty by forty feet. One end was converted
into a kitchen. There was an American cookstove, and
when its fame went abroad, all the women of the pueblo
came and crouched about it in mute admiration. Until
then they had held off, but the cooking machine of the
white woman was more than their curiosity could with-
stand. The center was the dining-room, with a table
40 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
covered with enamel cloth, and the other end served for
a bedroom. Among the unwelcome visitors the people
told her she might expect were pulgas (fleas) chinches
(bedbugs) both with wings and without, alacranes,
tarantulas, scorpions, centipedes and sanciidas (mosqui-
toes). Accordingly the bed was provided with a stout
netting and each foot stood in a can of petroled. There
was no floor covering, beyond a mat near the bed. An
adobe floor grows hard and smooth with constant
sprinkling and sweeping. The window was left uncov-
ered, save for a mosquito netting. There were four
blank, white walls and these she converted into things
of beauty. Her friends had already begun sending
magazines and pictorials, and in due time these arrived,
borne over the mountains on the shoulder of a peon,
who declared the American's correspondencia was too
heavy.
In this day of elaborate illustration, given a plenty of
papers and magazines, a good white background, and an
eye for the beautiful, and wall decoration is assured. It
Avas a delightful room. The guitar and mandolin had a
corner to themselves ; there were good-looking, straight-
legged oak chairs covered with hide, and hammocks hung
just outside the door, where burros and pigs came peril-
ously near.
Being worn with my travels I soon inquired for my
bed, and Don Alfredo led me to the assay office, where
I was to sleep. We left Doha Marciana engaged in the
remarkable enterprise, in Mexico, of making American
bread; and to my knowledge for a year, that camp was
never without it. Of course she had Indian servants,
but it takes time to teach the Indian.
But Indian women can teach as well. From them she
learned to do a wonderful sort of lace work, finer than
']"he pet burro
An old church iiuuie into an American home
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 43
the finest cobwebs. She painted a little, read a great
deal, and attended religiously to her large correspon-
dence. Writing to one's friends gets to be a religion
in lonely places. At first the mail came once a week,
and its coming was anxiously awaited. Then the rains
came, the Indian who brought it had to make a tremen-
dous detour to avoid the torrents, and its arrival became
a fortnightly event. That Indian mail carrier stood high
in Doha Marciana's favor. When he came, wet to the
skin, but with a fat sack of letters and papers on his
back, he must first have hot coffee and something to
eat, before she would consent to distribute the mail.
Every letter was worth its weight in gold. Why can't
we realize, who love to receive letters, that one from us
means just as much to somebody else?
Dofia Marciana loved pets. She had a mule, a trick
burro, a cow, several dogs and a pair of rabbits, besides
doves and chickens. But the mountains abound in
coyotes, foxes, opossums, hawks, snakes and gigantic
lizards, and every one has a fondness for young doves
and chickens. So she learned to shoot a rifle ; and many
were the trophies that adorned her walls, recalling the
death of various marauders despatched by her own hand.
Then she took photographs : amateurs, who have every
convenience at hand for their work, can fancy what
photography means, in a spot where hypo is precious
as diamond dust and developer must be used again and
again; where every drop of water is carried from the
river on women's shoulders, and where a dark room can
only be obtained by waiting for a dark night.
The people contributed to her amusement. Occasion-
ally the women assembled and went in solemn procession
to visit her. A dozen would file in and range themselves
about the room, crouching on the floor, when there were
3
44 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
no chairs or boxes left to offer. There they sat, de-
vouring every article in sight with their eyes, occasionally
exchanging a whispered word or two, and then took
their departure, as solemnly as they had come. At first,
the intercourse between the hostess and her guests was
limited to the ceremonious handshaking; but she even-
tually came to understand their odd dialect, which is a
curious corruption of Spanish. They showed their im-
itative genius in trying in their rude way, to copy her
clothing, and soon every woman among them rejoiced
in an apron, which had hitherto been unknown. There
was also a great demand for shoes, and many a dusky
matron suffered untold torture, crowding her sturdy feet
into wretched, high-heeled, pointed-toed, shiny Mexican
shoes, that made her hobble where before she had glided,
nimble as a cat. These luckily were discarded, when the
women went, night and morning, to bring water from
the river, tripping lightly over the sharp rocks, with a
huge olla of water deftly balanced on the head, or held
on one shoulder.
Doiia Marciana had in her possession one article, that
the people regarded as a sort of fetish. It was a small,
highly polished medicine chest. Shortly after her ar-
rival, a woman who had been very ill, was cur^d by a
remedy taken from that chest. News of the magic went
abroad and it was said that the cajita bonita (beautiful
little box) held a sure cure for every ill that flesh was
heir to. The Indians themselves still preserve con-
siderable knowledge of medicinal plants. In fact there
is not a weed nor a flower to which they do not assign
some virtue. This, they will tell you, is good for head-
ache ; this for a cough ; this flower cures snake-bite, and
the leaves of that tree will stop bleeding. The people of
the pueblo, however, forsook their own medicines, when
THE AIAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 45
the fame of the cajita bonita went abroad. Every man,
woman or child, with an ache or pain came to Dona
Marciana to solicit medicina. Now medicine, in the
mountains of Mexico, is even more precious than hypo-
sulph, and one never knows when it may be needed badly.
She was willing to give if the case was serious, and al-
ways kept a stock of lint and bandages on hand in the
event of an accident in the mines ; but this perpetual cry
for medicina was out of all reason. Finally she hit on
a plan. She adopted the water cure. When a man
came with a sprain, she sent him to hold the injured
member in the river. Hot water was prescribed for this
ache, and cold water for that. The patients obeyed, and
almost always found relief. It was most conducive to
cleanliness and a vast saving in medicina. The most
remarkable cure was of a man, apparently in the last
stages of consumption, and filthy beyond words. He
was advised to bathe in the river and told that if he
bathed often enough, he would get well. Soon after-
wards, he was seen in the river. The next day and the
next found him still bathing, and it got so that at any
time of day he could be found, soaking in some shallow
pool. Strange as it may seem, he began to get better.
He ate more, took on flesh, and in a month was as able
to work as any peon about the place.
What with the water cure and the cajita bonita, which
was resorted to in extreme cases, Doha Marciana came
to be greatly revered by the people, and many were the
humble offerings they brought her. When there was a
dance and the girls and young men were all assemble!,'
they came to her door with lighted torches ; and t\(^
giver of the baile led each girl up in turn to salute her.
Then they went and danced till daybreak. Sometimes
she would signify her wish to see one of their dances,
46 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
and a young man would bring his novia (sweetheart)
and together they would dance the jarabc till both were
exhausted. Or perhaps she would request one of her
favorite pieces, and they would sit in the moonlit corral,
strumming guitar and mandolin, until they were sur-
rounded by dark forms. The women would come and
crouch on the ground, with their children in their arms.
The men would stand motionless in the shadow. Not a
sound disturbed the performance except an adventure-
some pig perhaps, or a sad-voiced burro, protesting from
the mountain-side.
It is truly said that the woman is the natural home-
maker. But Dona Marciana, it seemed to me, had more
to make than the woman usually has. She not only made
a home, but in her mysterious woman-way she filled it
with happiness, which overflowed and got into the homes
of the people. I have no doubt that an appreciable
factor in her plan was her insistence, in this outlandish
place which was five days from a yeast-cake, on con-
stantly providing her household with American bread.
The morning after my arrival, Don Alfredo invited
me to a swim before breakfast, telling me I had only to
don a pair of overalls over my pajamas, and take my
underclothing along. I found the pueblo even more
dejected in appearance than it had seemed the night be-
fore. There were not over three hundred souls in all,
and the early abandonment of the mines, with the en-
suing misery, had induced in the people a dull and hope-
less apathy. Our advent had somewhat aroused them,
^nd we had already employed over thirty of their men.
"hey were civil in their greetings, but for any outward
expression on their part, we might always have lived
among them. This again was Mexico's psychology. A
plunge in the river, which was crystal-clear and very
The living-room
The table was covered with enamel cloth
THE ^lAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 49
cold, the sun not having yet touched it, proved a fine
tonic. Again I experienced the complete refreshment
of nerves and body imparted by Mexico's mountains.
We breakfasted hurriedly, for our mules were waiting
at the door, and before us was the never-failing thrill
of a first look at the face of the mine. ]\Iany a rich
bonanza, ere now, has been opened up by the night
shift.
The scene that met my eyes, as we quitted the pueblo
on our mules, was inspiring as the town itself was de-
pressing. The valley which lay five thousand feet above
the sea was perhaps a mile long, and enclosed by pine-
clad mountains, whose mean altitude was about ten
thousand feet. On their heights appeared, amid the
glistening pines, such wondrous formations in red sand-
stone as to give at first the impression that they were
fashioned by man. The intense blue of the heavens, the
fragrant, balmy air, and the profusion of bright birds
and flowers made the valley seem a paradise. And be-
yond all this scenic enchantment was the ever-present
dream of the mines, with their illimitable promise of
riches. This was the dream that cast its glamour over
the beautiful valley, where the very light seemed golden.
After an hour's ride we reached the tunnel, where the
men were at work. A pleasurable excitement was in
the air. Soon the foreman, who was an American, ap-
peared with a broad smile and told Don Alfredo that
the last blast had opened up a vein of high-grade ore.
He was as happy as possible and wanted to wager that
an assay would show it to be very rich metal, with a
high percentage of gold. The peones, too, had caught
the infection and laughed and sang, their lithe, nude
bodies glistening with sweat as they toiled from the
mine, bearing on their backs great leather sacks filled
so THE AlAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
with waste. This they emptied on the dump and trotted
in for more. The peones, hke all the workmen, knew
that rich mines meant a good living for them and their
families.
Leaving our mules, we were provided by the fore-
man with lights, and with him traversed the long tunnel
until we came to the face, where the harratcros were
drilling with steel barras or drills, preparatory to putting
in another charge of dynamite. These men were of
higher skill and intelligence than the peones, who merely
carried the ore and dirt from the mine. They were
serious and dignified, and their manifest satisfaction
at the appearance of the vein was correspondingly im-
pressive. Don Alfredo took some samples of ore, and
our curiosity was high to see what they would assay.
Jumping upon our mules, we sent them racing down
the trail, and knowing that a feed of corn awaited them,
they carried us back to camp in less than half the time
it took to reach the mines. We now started a fire in
the assay-furnace, crushed the ore and prepared the
assays, and eagerly watched the result of the fiery test.
The beads came out as big as small peas. The ore was
very rich, as the foreman was ready to wager, and it
carried considerable gold. Ore like that, if it holds out,
constitutes a bonanza. Doiia Marciana came to exclaim
and admire, but she also held, woman-like, to the opinion
that a well-prepared dinner should not be despised, even
if the mines were in bonanza. After dining, we sought
our hammocks, for the afternoon siesta. The mountains
and valley were suffused with a golden haze, which
merged with our slumbers, and tinged our dreams with
gold. But the next day brought disillusion. The rich
find turned out to be only a pocket of ore, and was soon
exhausted. The mother vein lay further in the moun-
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 51
tain, the foreman said. It meant running the tunnel a
httle further, that was all. Don Alfredo was sanguine,
like the foreman. It takes a sanguine man to make a
successful miner.
So fascinated did I become with this mining life, so
absorbed in the contemplation of what each day brought
forth, — the past, which had to do with cities and civili-
zation, grew dim and unreal, while the present seemed the
only reality. I even had ceased to think of my ride in
the mountains and of " Wolf-Face," until one day our
storekeeper, who spoke a quaintly broken English, re-
minded me of him.
" The people were all surprise, that night you arrive,"
he remarked ; " they say you bring one very bad peon."
"Why bad?" I inquired.
" Quien sabe ? " he said with a shrug ; " they say he
has kill some people."
" What did he kill them for ? " I inquired, trying to ap-
pear indifferent.
" For to rob them," replied the storekeeper. " He
is very bad man. He has — how you say it ? —
coracon de loho." [Heart of a wolf.]
This bit of information was on the whole rather grati-
fying; for while I had never communicated my suspi-
cions regarding " Wolf-Face " to a soul, my opinion of
him was at last vindicated.
CHAPTER III
Stories of Lost Mines: "EI Naranjal": How Mines Were
Lost: Fear and Strange Superstitions of the Indians: Story
of the Man Who Says He Saw " El Naranjal " : Story of " La
Providencia " : The Foolish Compadres: The Life Search of
Don Modesto.
OF all the romantic tales heard in this land of
romance, none are more fascinating than the
stories of lost mines: of mines that were
known, long before the War of Independence, to have
been fabulously rich; but which have since disappeared,
together with their Spanish owners, as completely as
though they never existed.
It is said by some that when these mines were aban-
doned by the Spaniards, they were effectually covered
up ; and that in many instances the owners died without
divulging their whereabouts. Others say that to this
day there are Indians living in remote places in the
mountains, whose fathers worked in these very mines
and who could show them up if they would. There
was an old superstition among the Indians, doubtless
founded on the threats of their masters, that to betray
the locality of an ancient mine would bring certain
death; and in some instances this belief still exists.
Mexico abounds in old mines that were worked cen-
turies ago, and in ruined haciendas, whose beginnings the
people themselves know nothing about. They are en-
countered in most unlooked for and almost inaccessible
52
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 53
places ; and it is not improbable that many more exist,
to be discovered in the future.
One of the most famous and long-sought-for old
Spanish mines, in this middle-western part of Durango
is "El Naranjal " (the Orangery) which was reputed
to be a big gold producer. Long after the Revolution,
when mining in this section was revived by foreign
capital, reports were rife about this wonderful mine;
and yet no one knew just where it was. Many had heard
it described by their fathers or grandfathers, and all
agreed on one point ; that the hacienda was surrounded
by a large orange orchard (naranjal) from which the
mine took its name. While it is hard to believe that
such a place, which must have employed many peones,
could be actually lost, if we consider the years during
which all industry was paralyzed by continued wars,
together with the apathy of the Indians, and the nomad
existence of the average mining peon, it is not impos-
sible.
Many are the exploring parties, equipped by wealthy
mine owners, that have gone in search of " El Naran-
jal " : many the supposed clues, such as traces of gold
in a mountain stream, or a piece of rich quartz on the
trail, that have been followed for weeks, only to end in
disappointment. " El Naranjal," to all intents and pur-
poses, existed only in the imagination of the people, who
still talked about it as confidently as though it were
an established fact. Their stories always held a pe-
culiar fascination for me. It was not so much the
hidden treasure as the old hacienda itself that excited
my imagination. I often pictured the ruined buildings
and the deserted chapel, whose bell had been silent for a
century, save for a muffled note perhaps that fell from
it on stormy nights ; with no sign of life save the bats
54 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
that flitted in and out at nightfall, and with the
orange trees growing thicker and taller, shutting it more
and more away from the world.
So one day when a man said to me, " I have seen
* El Naranjal,' I stared at him in amazement for fully
a minute, before I could believe my senses. Then I
passed him my pocket flask, offered him a cigarro and
waited for him to continue. He was a character, such
as you will find only in a mining camp : half-Mexican-
ized, through long residence in the country ; always
threatening to leave it, yet never leaving ; always ex-
pecting to strike it rich and never striking it.
" Yes," he went on, " I have seen ' El Naranjal.' It
happened this way. I had been prospecting all summer
near an old pueblo north of Durango, and was returning
to the city for the holidays. The first night out, I came
to a lone Indian rancho about sundown, and asked if
I could sleep there. The owner, an old white-haired
fellow, lived alone and as the road was seldom traveled,
he seemed rather glad to see me. I had with me a
couple of flasks of Scotch whisky, and when we
had made a supper on beans and tortillas, I got out
one of the bottles and after a number of pulls, he be-
came exceedingly friendly. The talk turned on old
mines, and he finally told me that he knew where there
was a very rich one, with a ruined hacienda.
" He said it was during a war, probably the French
intervention, and that the government had sent soldiers
into the mountains after recruits. He took what cattle
he had and drove them over the mountains and down
the other side. At the bottom of the caiion beyond,
which he had reached by following an old trail, he came
on an abandoned hacienda. The mine, which was close
by, had been worked extensively ; and he picked up a
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 55
piece of rock on the clump, with chunks of pure gold, as
yellow as the oranges. I questioned him more closely.
He said there were many orange trees and that they
were very old; and then I felt satisfied he had seen the
lost Naranjal. I asked him if he would take me there ;
but he replied evasively and became very reticent, so the
subject dropped.
*' The next morning I waited anxiously for him to
refer to it again, but he said never a word ; and my
experience with Indians had taught me never to try forc-
ing their hand. The old fellow had treated me well,
and as I was about to leave, I gave him the flask, which
still had a little whisky left. His eyes glistened with de-
light and he went and put it carefully inside an ancient
chest made of rawhide, that stood in the corner. Re-
turning he handed me, without speaking, a piece of rock.
Instinctively I knew it was the one he had picked up
on the ore-dump. I held it to the light and saw gold
nuggets, as big as the end of my little finger.
" I looked at the old man and waited for him to
speak. Instead he took my arm and led me into the
corral. Pointing to the mountains, he asked if I saw
a peak that looked like a big pilonciUo (conical loaf o£
sugar). On my answering in the affirmative, he said
the trail he had followed crossed at that point. He was
silent for a while as though thinking deeply. At last
he said that if I wanted to see the old mine he would
go with me as far as the peak, and start me on the right
trail. Beyond that point, he himself would not go. He
said there were bears and tigers on the other side, and
that I would need to go well armed and with provisions
for a week or more.
" Impressed as I was by what he had told me, I was
in no position to profit by it. I was alone, with no
56 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
chance of getting aid inside of five days and without
sufficient money to secure an outfit in any event. I
determined, however, to remember the peak and that
some day I would return and look for the mine. I
cautioned the old man not to mention it to any one
else. He looked at me gravely and replied that he was
a youth at the time he made the discovery, and that I
was the first one he had ever told. Promising him I
would return, I set out for Durango.
" When I arrived, I learned that the men I had been
working for had lost faith in the prospect and did not
need my services any longer. I tried in vain to interest
several mining men in ' El Naranjal.' They all heard
me through, but had invariably too many irons in the
fire already, to start on such a wild-goose chase, as they
termed it; and I was at last compelled to go to work
from actual necessity. Years went by and while I never
forgot the old Indian's story I could never quite see my
way clear to follow it up. Yes, I am a drinking man, a
heavy one at times, like nearly all the old stagers ; and
often the money went in a spree that might have helped
me to ' El Naranjal ' and a fortune. It got so finally,
that when I told the story people only laughed. I re-
gretted a hundred times that I had not gotten possession
of the rock, by hook or crook. The old man seemed
loth to part with it, and at the time I did n't stop to
consider the importance of having it to show.
" It was ten years later, when at last I saw my chance.
I had been prospecting for some rich Americans at a
point that I believed to be within at most four days' ride
of the Indian's rancho. I w^as working some twenty
odd peones and had been left in full control. The pros-
pect looked more and more dubious and I had no mind
to continue. Neither had I a mind to throw up the
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 57
sponge. The story of the lost ' Naranjal ' haunted
me. I thought of it by day and at last one night, in a
dream, I saw as plain as I see you, the old hacienda
with the orange trees growing all about it. The next day
I picked out four of my best men, took what money
I had on hand and prepared to hit the trail. Of course
I did wrong to go without consulting my employers,
but I had * El Naranjal ' on the brain. Besides I felt
sure of success. After we had fairly started, I began
to feel anxious about my old Indian. Was he living
after all these years? I wondered.
" The journey proved longer than I had figured on,
but the night of the fifth day, just as I was wondering
if I could have missed the trail, I saw the familiar
rancho. I went to the door with a beating heart and was
met by a middle-aged man, whom I saw at once was
too young to be my former friend. He proved to be his
brother, and said the aged Indian had been dead several
years, though he could not tell how many. I spent the
night at the rancho and in course of conversation
touched on old mines, but he professed the densest
ignorance regarding them. At last I asked him point
blank if his brother had never told him of his discovery,
adding that he had not only told me of it, but offered
to direct me to the place. For a second he eyed me
suspiciously. Then going to the old chest, which I re-
membered only too well he took from it a small, black
flask and holding it up before me, asked if it was mine.
For a moment I was puzzled. Then like a flash it came
to me, that I had given the old Indian what little liquor
it contained on leaving him, I answered that it had
once been mine, but that I had given it to his brother.
At that he became voluble for an Indian. He said his
brother had always looked for my return and had talked
58 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
of me to the last, instructing him, in case I did come,
to go with me to the peak of the mountain, and show
me the old trail. I was wild to be off and finally per-
suaded him to start with us the next morning.
" It was near sunset the next day when we reached
the cone-shaped peak, and the old man got off his mule
and began scanning the slope on the other side. At
length he gave a satisfied grunt and holding aside the
tall grass, pointed to the faint semblance of a trail. I
was to follow that trail two or three days, he said, and I
should see the hacienda. He then put out his hand.
Greatly surprised, I pressed him to pass the night with
us; but he steadfastly refused, and with one backward
glance, that had in it something of dread, in the direc-
tion of the abandoned trail, he bade me ' Godspeed '
and disappeared in the darkness. I was too excited to
sleep and finally got up and sat by the fire till day-
break. We started as soon as it was light and then
began one of the hardest jobs I had ever undertaken.
It is not always a simple matter to keep on a trail that
is in constant use ; and when it comes to one that has
not been used for half a century or more it is next to
impossible. Sometimes we lost it and were an hour
beating about in the brush, before we found it again.
We had to walk, as the animals were as much at sea
as we were ; and we frequently had to cut our way
through dense growths of chaparral. Sunset found us
on a bare ledge of rocks, where the trail disappeared,
and there was nothing to do but camp there for the
night.
" At daybreak we began hunting for the trail, and
the men had declared repeatedly there was an end of it
when I discovered it, doubling on itself and leading
through the brush again. I sent two men ahead with
THE MAN WHO UKES MEXICO 59
machetes to make a path, and we followed slowly, leading
the animals. Night found us apparently no nearer our
goal. We were still descending the mountain, and on
every hand stretched the limitless chaparral. I have
been in lonely places, but never one like that. The old
man had talked of bears and tigers. There was abso-
lutely not a sign of life, not even a bird save an oc-
casional vulture, sailing overhead. The men looked
downcast and after supper one of them came and asked
me to turn back. He said his companions were all
triste (sad) and 'afraid we were going to the death.'
I asked him why they thought so and he replied be-
cause the vultures had followed us for two days. For
answer I told him to make ready for an early start and
assured him we should make it in one day more. Then
I rolled myself in my blankets.
" When I woke it was not yet light, but before I had
actually opened my eyes, I knew I was alone. I called
out but there was no reply. The cowards, satisfied that
I would not turn back, had deserted me in the night ;
and when daylight came, I found they had taken the
best part of the provisions. I cursed them till I was
tired out, and swore with every oath that I would never
give up till I had seen the mine, and that if I failed, the
vultures were welcome to my carcass. Then I started
again, hewing my way with a machete, that had luckily
been left behind. I kept on all day, not even stopping to
eat and had about decided to give it up until the follow-
ing morning, when I suddenly came to a part of the
slope that seemed a wide ledge of red sandstone. It
was devoid of vegetation and the trail was sharply de-
fined, being worn deep in the sandy formation. I de-
termined to push on, relying on mv mule to keep on
the trail.
6o THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
" It was now so dark I could not see four feet ahead.
My mule seemed nervous and several times stood stock-
still. I got off repeatedly and groped about in the dark-
ness, to make sure I was still on the trail. I had just
gotten into the saddle and ridden perhaps five rods
further, when she came to a sudden standstill, snorted
and began to tremble. I urged her forward but she
reared and tried to bolt up the mountain. I turned her
about and forced her on a few steps, when she stopped
again and showed every sign of extreme terror. Dis-
mounting I took a step forward, retaining my hold on
her neck and it was well I did, for I found myself
stepping into space, and only saved myself by hanging
on to the mule. I had used my last match and there
was nothing to do but stay my hunger as best I could
and wait for daylight. It was evident that I had reached
some sort of a jumping-off place ; how much of a one I
should know in the morning.
" When I awoke the sun was high. I had slept from
sheer exhaustion, but I was provoked at finding it broad
daylight. It was fortunate for me that it was though,
for as I sprang up and started forward, I saw that I
was near the edge of a precipice; and the thought of
my close shave made me feel hot and cold by turns.
I crept nearer and saw that the trail ran to the very
edge of the cliflf, which had the appearance of a moun-
tain that had been sliced off like a loaf of bread. Crawl-
ing to the edge, I looked over and saw a perpendicular
descent of thousands of feet, which, instead of sloping
outward at the base, receded; and at either side, as far
as I could see, was the same precipitous wall. The bot-
tom of the caiion was four thousand feet below. As I
scanned it hurriedly, a shining line of silver caught my
eye — a river of course — and there, close beside it,
The foolish compudre
THE ]\IAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 63
was a clump of bright green foliage, with patches of
white that could be nothing less than the walls of the
hacienda. Yes there was * El Naranjal/ I could have
sworn it: yet no desert mirage was ever more inacces-
sible. On every hand towered those forbidding cliffs.
My provisions were exhausted. My mule was ready to
drop in her tracks. I knew that unless I turned back
and made the rancho, I should starve to death ; on look-
ing up I saw the vultures still sailing overhead. I sat
for hours, gazing at that patch of green, till I could
almost see the outlines of the buildings. Once I thought
I heard the chime of a bell. At last, aroused by the
burning sun, I took one last look and started sadly up
the mountain, dragging my mule after me. Even then I
was not satisfied to go, but turned again and again, till
I could no longer see the bottom of the caiion.
" Before night, my mule lay down and refused to stir.
I took off the saddle and left her. After that I lost
sight of the vultures. Weary as I was, the ascent was
much quicker than going the other way and after three
days of terrible suffering, I reached the rancho, only to
find it deserted. I managed to get into the house where
I found a little corn. That night I chewed corn and
drank water. The next day I made tortillas and then
set out for Durango. Falling in with some freighters, I
gladly traveled with them, and part of the way had a
mule to ride. When I reached the city, I wrote a full
account of my experience to my employers. I had some
doubt as to whether they would believe me, and while
waiting for an answer, my old enemy got the best of
me and I went on a spree. It ended in an attack of
fever and when I came to my senses two letters were
handed me. The first one requested me to come at once ;
the second said they had heard of my goings on and
4
64 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
that they washed their hands of me. I told my story
again and again, but no one took any stock in it and so
for the second time, I was obHged to give the thing up.
I shall have one more try at it though : I am waiting for
a man now who has promised me an outfit, and you
may be sure there will be plenty of rope to get down
over those cliffs with. I'm going to find ' El Naranjal '
or die trying. Who knows ! You may see me on Easy
Street yet!"
This is the story of the man who says he has seen
" El Naranjal." Will he yet reach it and " Easy
Street " ? Who knows ? Meantime the ancient hacienda
sleeps peacefully among the orange trees, and the golden
nuggets, yellow as the shining fruit, lie hidden away in
the dark chambers of the old mine.
Another lost mine, of intense interest to us, was right
in the Huahuapan district. Its name was " La Provi-
dencia." It belonged to Don Modesto, the grandee of
the pueblo, who himself discovered it, when a boy. By
agreement with his heirs, if uncovered by our peones,
it belonged to us and we should be — never mind —
here is the story.
When Don Modesto found " La Providencia " he was
not even looking for it. He was searching for stray
burros and found a mine instead. Years afterwards,
when he did look for it, he couldn't find it; and he
spent the rest of his life in the search. He died, a
tremulous, white-haired old man ; but he had never for
an instant abandoned the hope of finding " La Provi-
dencia " again ; and he willed the mine together with all
his other belongings to his youngest son Juan, who wore
white cotton clothes and sandals, did n't know his own
name when he saw it written, and was called tonto
(foolish) by the rest of the family.
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 65
Juan liked the little rancho with its cows and pigs well
enough ; but when it came to the mine, he never even
gave it a second thought. His experience in mining
consisted in carrying out rocks in a heavy sack, like any
beast of burden ; and he was glad enough to have it over
with. His brothers and sisters, all except Tonia, who
like himself was not over-bright, had married and left
the old house years before. They envied Juan the
rancho, and the cows and pigs, but not the mine. Never-
theless, Juan was and is the ostensible owner of " La
Providencia," one of the richest mines of its size the
country has ever known, which was found by his father
Don Modesto, then a boy, and lost by his grandfather
Don Domingo.
To begin at the beginning, when Don Modesto was
a boy, he lived in this pueblo. In addition to his father's
house, there were perhaps some twenty others ; the peo-
ple were all so poor, they lived on corn and beans, and
sometimes there was not enough of those.
When corn and beans were plenty, the men would put
a few sacks on their burros and take them off over the
mountains, to trade for luxuries such as salt, sugar and
chocolate. These trips were of rare occurrence and
the pueblo was practically unknown, until one day all
this was changed by Don Modesto. His father, Don
Domingo, sent him in search of some stray burros and he
spent the day climbing about among the rocks. As he
was trotting along with guarache shod feet, he stubbed
his toe on a rock and while pretty well hardened to
stubbing, this time it hurt; in boyish wrath he picked
up the rock and started to throw it over the cliff. But
it was a pretty rock, all blue and green, with thin, white
scales on it, that glistened like the cobwebs on the grass,
when the sun touches them. And there were little
66 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
bright yellow specks, the color of the candlesticks in the
church. He concluded to keep it and as he saw no
signs of the burros he went home, expecting at least a
scolding, and to be started on a further search before
daybreak.
When Don Domingo saw the rock in the boy's hand,
he forgot all about burros. Don Domingo had once
worked in a mine and he knew good metal when he saw
it. The white scales, that looked like cobwebs, were
native silver; and the yellow specks tiny particles of gold.
Sure enough, the boy had to start before daybreak
the next morning ; but Don Domingo went with him and
told him to go straight to the place where he had stubbed
his toe. Luckily for him he remembered and led Don
Domingo there just as the sun rose. There was plenty
more rock like the first and that was the beginning of
" La Providencia." Don Domingo named the mine.
He was a good Catholic and Providence had seen fit, in
the midst of his poverty, to send him untold riches. He
was a generous man and everyone's friend. Nearly
every other man in the village was his compadrc, and
those who were not compadres were relatives. He gave
each one a labor in the new mine, which meant the
privilege to take out all the metal he could. Many of
the compadres started tunnels of their own, lower down
the ledge, and the side of the mountain looked like a
great beehive with the workers toiling in and out, some-
times laden with waste but oftener with rich metal.
Rude earthen furnaces were constructed in the village
and the men melted the ore and carried the big chunks
of silver over the mountains to the cities, returning with
food and clothing, and with their saddle bags filled with
big silver dollars. Of course the metal brought more
than the ordinary price of silver, as it carried gold : the
" He kept his peons at work in the mines "'
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 69
compadres never knew just how much gold, nor did they
care. A hundred and odd big, silver dollars were good
enough, for a few hours' work at the mine and fourteen
days' ride in the mountains. One did n't have to work
very hard or very often at that rate ; for where was the
use in filling all the jars in the house with silver dollars?
The women began to wear silks and satins and huge
gold earrings, and the men had silver buttons on their
trousers. Aside from this and a decided affluence in
way of corn, beans and cigarros, there was slight change
in the life of the pueblo. The men worked a little at
their labores, and ate and smoked and slept a great deal.
As for the mine, that of course would last forever. The
only one who made any extra effort to get the big, silver
dollars, was Don Domingo. I suspect that Don Do-
mingo had good blood in him. Everything he did goes
to show it. He kept his peones at work in the mine
even when there was plenty of corn and beans ; and when
every jar was filled with dollars, he had a great box
made, of rawhide, with figures of animals and birds
worked on the cover. The box was filled too, and the
people will tell you to this day how any of Don Do-
mingo's friends were at liberty to help themselves. The
box still stands in the old house of Don Modesto, but
there are no dollars in it now: only beans, and they
often get so low you can see the bottom.
Don Domingo kept getting out more metal and bring-
ing home more silver dollars. He sent Don IModesto
away to school and gave him all the money he could
spend. He built himself a bigger house with a paved
court and a heavy door to close at night such as he had
seen in the cities. He built a high wall about the church
and another around the graveyard ; and had a big, stone
tomb made, which was destined to receive his own re-
70 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
mains. All this cost money and besides his relatives
came from far and near to visit him: and while they
all came very poor, they never went away without a
goodly supply of dollars. So although the rawhide box
was kept filled, Don Domingo never found it necessary
to make another. Gradually the fame of the mine went
abroad, and people came flocking into the pueblo, though
not in the way that Northern people flock to a mining
region. Perhaps drifting is a better word. All who
were not compadres of Don Domingo's, were compadres
of his compadres ; and all got labores in " La Provi-
dencia."
Don Modesto, meantime, remained away at college,
where he learned a little and squandered a great deal.
Don Domingo kept his peones at work in the mine and
tried to incite his compadres to follow his example ; but
they grew lazier and lazier day by day, and finally, strik-
ing a body of ore that was not quite so rich as formerly,
began taking out the pillars that zvere rich, but that
should have been left to support the roofs of their tun-
nels. When Don Domingo learned this, he w^as furious
and threatened to drive them from their labores. They
promised him not to take out another pillar, but the
damage was already done.
There are two rainy seasons in Mexico ; one during the
summer months, when it pours for a brief space daily
and is followed by sunshine and budding flowers and a
brighter green on grass and tree. The other falls in the
winter, anywhere from December to March or even
April. In the mountains the clouds hang low for days,
threatening, lowering and then suddenly, without warn-
ing, the storm breaks and sweeps everything before it.
What was but now a tiny stream becomes a raging tor-
rent. Waterfalls spring into existence where they have
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 71
never been before. Trees are torn up by the roots and
huge boulders are swept along. These are the storms
that change the courses of rivers in a night, hollow out
still deeper the canons and frequently alter the entire ap-
pearance of the country. Such a storm struck the
pueblo one dark December morning. The men were all
safe in their houses. They had been expecting it and
had not gone to their labores for days. More water fell
than they had ever seen before. The little river flooded
its banks and threatened to carry away the pueblo. Few
of the houses were waterproof. When one has plenty
of corn and beans and money to buy more, what does it
matter if the roof lacks a shingle or two?
The storm raged for two days and two nights and
then ceased as suddenly as it had begun. The third
morning dawned, soft and mild as a northern June, and
Don Domingo, who was tired of staying in his house,
even though it was a good one, ordered his mule saddled
and set out for the mine, followed by his peones. A
number of the compadres, who had eaten more than usual
during their enforced stay indoors and discovered that
their supply of dollars was getting lower, decided to re-
turn to their work as well. They accordingly sauntered
leisurely up the mountain, with Don Domingo in the
lead. He rather lorded it over the others, and always
wore a big hat with lots of silver on it, pantalones with
silver buttons, and shoes. I have heard Don Modesto
describe him as he rode on his mule at the head of the
procession, going back to take more wealth from " La
Providencia."
As Don Domingo was in the lead, he was the first to
see that something was wrong. He was a bit in ad-
vance of the others, and he thought the ground looked
strange. Suddenly he came to the top of a little rise
^2 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
and stopped his mule in dismay. Before him was an
unfamiHar country. Trees were twisted and torn up
bodily ; there were great rocks that he did not know and
at his feet tumbled a noisy mountain stream. For a
moment he thought he was dreaming. He gazed wildly
about him, and then turning his mule, went flying back
towards the amazed compadres screaming, " It is lost !
The mine is lost ! " They stared at him in bewilder-
ment and then at tlie strange scene before them. The
only familiar landmarks were the distant mountains.
All the rest was changed. The trail, the labores, every
vestige of the mine had disappeared.
The first that Don Modesto knew of the catastrophe
was when he was summoned home from school. He
knew something was wrong the moment he entered the
pueblo. All the men looked crestfallen except Don
Domingo. He, as I have said, had good blood in him,
and he was determined to find the mine. He had a
superstitious feeling, that as Don Modesto had first dis-
covered it, he could find it again; but although they
went together, that day and many more, they could form
no definite idea as to what had happened. The fact was
a portion of the mountain had been washed away and
the tunnels, lacking pillars which were taken out by the
lazy compadres, had all caved and been covered up.
Meantime the compadres sat idly bemoaning their lot.
They had few dollars left and no heart to look for the
lost labores. Don Domingo besought them to aid in
the search and a few of them did, at least while his dol-
lars held out : but now there was no rich metal to bring
in more, and before long, not only the big box but the
jars were empty. Then the compadres fell oflf and went
to planting corn and beans again and some went to
other pueblos; only Don Domingo kept bravely digging
THE ]\IAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 73
away on the mountain and Don Modesto helped him.
There was still a little rancho that produced more corn
than the family required ; and year after year, every
cent that it brought went into those holes in the moun-
tain.
At last Don Domingo, now grown very old, took to his
bed. He was always talking of going back to work
and discussed it eagerly with Don Modesto, every night
when the latter returned. His last words, before he
died, were a parting injunction as to the direction of the
tunnel. So they carried him to the tomb that he had
built and paid for, in the days when the chest was full.
To Don Modesto, he left his indomitable spirit, his
rancho and — " La Providencia " ; and Don Modesto
went on with the search. Year after year he grew poorer
and poorer, as the crops failed or were eaten by insects,
and he was forced to sell a pig or another cow. He
married and the children came thick and fast. The
girls grew up and learned to help the mother, Felipa,
carrying water and grinding corn. The boys, just as
soon as they were strong enough to hold a drill or carry
ore, were sent to work in the tunnel.
Don Modesto grew old and gray as his father had
done before him ; always quiet and dignified, respected
by all the people, never forgetting that his father had
been the first man of the pueblo, never doubting that
eventually he should come into his own. One by one
the sons wearied and deserted him, going to live in other
parts ; all except his favorite, Canuto, and Juan, the
youngest, who was only fit to be peon. The daughters,
too, married and went away, till only Tonia remained to
help old Felipa. Those were dark days for Don
Modesto. The mother and daughter went barefooted
like the poorest women in the village. Don Modesto
74 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
still wore shoes, though no one knew how he managed
it. Perhaps he realized that if he once stooped to
sandals, the dignity of the family was gone forever.
By this time there were hut two at work in the tunnel
which had become a labyrinth, crossing and recrossing,
up and down, and always waste, nothing but waste.
Canuto and Juan worked together, first with the drill
and then with the sitron. Don Modesto rode the little
old mule, that had been Don Domingo's, up the moun-
tain every morning, flushed with hope ; and back again
at night sad, disappointed, but never actually dis-
couraged. As for Felipa, she shared his conviction that
the mine would yet be found.
When it came time to harvest the corn and beans,
Juan was sent to the rancho ; and Canuto, who could
not work alone in the tunnel, posted off to some mining
camp, and earned more money, to go on with the hunt
for " La Providencia." It was this that brought the
final desgracia and broke Don Modesto's heart and
spirit at the same time. Canuto, though a good boy, was
a bit wild and fond of mescal. He was also a stout
friend. One day, his companion at a fiesta was arrested.
Both had been drinking and he flew to his assistance.
There was a fight and Canuto was shot to death.
Don Modesto never recovered from the blow. Neither
did Felipa, but when the first shock was over, she settled
again into the old routine and wanted Don Modesto to
go back to his tunnel. He, poor man, seemed to have
lost all heart. He would sit for hours with his head
bowed between his hands, or pace nervously up and
down the patio, without speaking to a soul. Felipa said
several times in his hearing, that it worried her to have
a man about the place all the time, but he did n't seem
to notice. Juan also took to loafing around home, only
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 75
going to the rancho occasionally to look at the corn and
beans.
Months passed and Don Modesto remained the same.
When at last the change came, no one knew how to
account for it. One morning he got up before it was
light and put on working clothes and sandals just like
a peon. Felipa was frightened but she, wily old thing,
pretended to take it as a matter of course and flew about
with Tonia making an extra batch of tortillas. Don
Modesto called Juan, told him to get the drills and the
rest of the mining tools and together they started up the
mountain. Don Modesto was walking. To be sure he
only carried one drill, while Juan was loaded like a pack
animal ; but the mere fact of his carrying anything and
dressing like a peon set the whole town agog; and the
people shook their heads and predicted no good would
come of it.
When they returned, late that night, Don Modesto's
eyes shone. With trembling hands he produced some
pieces of rock and showed them to Felipa. They were
not much to look at but her practised eye detected silver.
Yes, he had struck a vein and it was rich metal. He
was sure he had found it at last. Ah, that Canuto were
alive now ! and then old Felipa began to cry and wail
" Adios — Adios ! " just as she had when their boy was
killed.
She soon stopped crying and began getting supper,
and before the meal was over all were quite cheerful.
The next day they went again to the tunnel, and the
next; and then a burro was driven up and came back
at night, loaded with ore. The pueblo was wild with
excitement. Felipa was jubilant and as the other women
had swarmed into the patio, she began ordering them
about, setting this one to carrying water and this one
76 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
to grinding corn. Meantime she crouched in the court
and smoked one cigarro after another. Her face
was partly muffled in her black shawl, but her old eyes
had an exultant gleam. Was not *' La Providencia "
found ?
Don Modesto told Juan to start the fire in the furnace
and he himself prepared to run the metal. All night
they worked at the furnace. Tonia, who but half com-
prehended what had happened, lay down on her mat
and slept ; but Felipa crouched all night in the court,
where she could see the flames, and smoked. A driz-
zling rain fell and Don Modesto was drenched to the
skin but he hardly knew it. When morning came he
had nearly fifty ounces of silver. He was shaking all
over when he went to show it to Felipa, partly from
excitement, but more from cold and exhaustion. Felipa
was as excited as he was. She told him to lie down,
while she went to get the breakfast. When she came
back, she found him hot with fever, tossing and mut-
tering about " La Providencia " and his dead boy Canuto.
Felipa sent Juan to the mine for more metal and she
and Tonia set about doctoring Don Modesto, who grew
steadily worse. When Juan came home at night, she
told him to saddle the little mule and go at once to call
the other children ; to tell them " La Providencia " was
found and that Don Modesto was very ill.
They came fast enough, and inquired for their father
and the mine in the same breath. Was he very ill —
was the mine really found? Yes, he was very ill, — ■
dying in fact, and perhaps it was just as well. The
mine was not found at all. It was only a little Jiilo
(thread) Don Modesto had run into, and there was no
more of it. The compadres had worked the second
burro-load in the furnace but it gave little or nothing.
The funeral procession
Prayers in the little church
THE ^lAN WHO LIKES ^lEXICO 79
Then they went to the tunnel and looked for them-
selves.
This point settled, there was nothing left to do but
watch Don Modesto die. A hurried search was made
for a will and not finding one, the brothers and sisters
got a man who could write, to set down all his posses-
sions on paper, in case he revived sufficiently to signify
who was to have them. By this time it was dark and
they gathered at the bedside. Candles were lighted
and a woman began rapidly saying the prayers for the
dying. Felipa crouched motionless at the foot of the
bed, her head muffled in her black shawl. Tonia was in
a corner, sobbing aloud, and Juan knelt by his father,
his poor, simple face streaming with tears. Suddenly an
old crone set up the death-wail. As her voice shrilled
it was taken up by the others. The woman prayed
louder and faster and the oldest son sprang on the bed
and began winding Don Modesto's left hand and arm
with long strips of coarse white cloth. He had finished
the left arm and was well along with the right, when
Don Modesto opened his eyes. He knew his hour
had come. He heard the death-wail, saw the wind-
ing sheet, and still the brave old spirit asserted itself.
He struggled to raise his head and Juan got on the bed
back of him and lifted him up. Then some one brought
the paper and held it close to his eyes. He scanned it
closely and they knew from his look he understood ; but
when he came to the end he frowned and tried in vain
to speak. Then Felipa bent over and whispered, " La
Providencia ? " He nodded and they remembered they
had not even put the mine in the will. So the man who
could write added " La Mina Providencia " and then
they asked him how he wanted the things divided. This
time they clearly heard him say " Juan." Was Juan to
8o THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
have everything they asked in dismay and he nodded
again. The others were furious but could do nothing;
so the scribe wrote " to my son Juan " and held out the
pen to Don Modesto, who looked fretfully at his right
hand, which was partially wrapped in the grave clothes.
They had to unwind them and the pen was placed in his
nerveless fingers. For a moment it looked as though
he could not sign ; then slowly, feebly he began to make
the elaborate scroll, that he always put under his name
and that should have come last. They thought his
strength would fail ; but when the scroll was completed,
with every dash and flourish that belonged to it, he
traced his name above it in tremulous characters and fell
back exhausted against Juan's knee. The oldest son
began rapidly winding his right hand again, and this time
Don Modesto did not open his eyes.
The fifty ounces of silver paid for a burial befitting
Don Modesto's station ; and Felipa bought yards and
yards of black calico, with which the compadres fes-
tooned the front of the house. Don Modesto lay in
state for three days. He looked very peaceful with his
silvery hair and beard and a decent suit of black, which
the women declared Felipa had kept hidden away ever
since their wedding. On the fourth day, there were
prayers in the little church, and he was borne up the
mountain, for the last time, on the shoulders of his
compadres. The women and children followed, wailing
and tossing their arms wildly above their heads. A
tomb had been built of stone, just like Don Domingo's,
and there Don Modesto sleeps by his father's side.
Felipa mourned for a time and then, with Indian
resignation, took up her old life ; and Juan, who was
glad enough to get through carrying ore, went back to
his corn and beans. On rare occasions, such as his
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 8i
dia Santo or some special fiesta, he puts on the trousers
with the silver buttons, that were Don Modesto's, and
the big hat. Juan cannot endure shoes, and bare, brown
feet make rather a queer tapering off to so much splen-
dor; but they don't show much as he lolls within the
door, smoking his cigarro. Then the people, remember-
ing the past greatness of the family, tip their hats lazily,
salute him as " Don Juan " and tell again the story of
the wonderful mine, that once made the pueblo rich;
the long-lost " La Providencia."
CHAPTER IV
Leaving the Mines: A Last Ride: The Thoughts of a Mozo:
A Meeting on the Train: A Man is Known by his Shoes:
Pleasant Experiences in Zacatecas : Arrival at Mexico City :
Kindness of Mexicans to Strangers : The Best Way to Learn
Spanish: The Plaza Mayor: Cathedral Towers: Thoughts
of the Conquest: The Paseo de la Reforma: A Meeting with
Diaz.
OF all the prospects in the Huahuapan district,
" La Providencia " was our favorite. All the
traditions of the pueblo, concerning its former
wealth, centered in that mine. The survivors of the
fainily that had owned it, though now very poor, were
treated with deference by the people ; and they main-
tained an evident family pride. There seemed slight
cause to doubt that the mine had existed, or that it
had been very rich. To this the people all agreed with-
out dissent. And for tangible evidence that its owner
had made dogged and courageous efforts to find it, after
it was lost, there were interminable tunnels, cross-cuts
and shafts remaining. Into these Don Alfredo put his
workmen and his money. He believed in " La Provi-
dencia " and was determined to find out what was inside
that mountain ; he said this knowledge was essential for
his peace of mind, and he was willing to pay for it.
Nearly a year passed, and although several very rich
pockets were found, la veta (the vein) eluded us. In
some of the other prospects, " blankets " of rich ore came
to light, but none were continuous. The country gave
82
THE MAN WHO LIKES AIEXICO 83
evidence of gigantic upheavals, which might well have
broken up the ledges, and this theory coincided with
that of the older men in the pueblo. I had evolved an
idea which I jealously guarded. I believed the valley
too beautiful to offer material wealth as well. It con-
tinued for me a sort of paradise, and I tried in vain
to banish the fear that in the end we should be forced,
by circumstances, to leave it. We had visited other
camps, where the mines were big producers ; but when
that was said, there was no more to say. There was
plenty of everything in those camps, food, drink and
money. But no happiness that I could see ! And the
surroundings were barren and desolate : every vestige of
green was trampled by the pack-trains carrying out the
silver. True, there was generous hospitality and the
comradeship of men of our own race. But in the mines
even friendship is marred by the feverish lust for gold.
Returning from these camps, with prosperity strong
in our nostrils, Don Alfredo and I were at first inclined
to be gloomy. The ride was usually a matter of a
day, however, and it was impossible to be gloomy, for
twelve consecutive hours, in those glorious mountains.
When we gained the last summit and gazed on the valley
of Huahuapan, we invariably began praising it for its
beauty. Don Alfredo would then say with emphasis
that all it needed, to make it the finest camp in the world,
was a good mine. If by chance we had left "La Provi-
dencia" in metal, he would begin planning the survey
for a pipe-line, and would point out a favorable site for
a mill. With me, however, the guilty conviction grew
that it would be impossible to build pipe-lines and tram-
ways and erect a mill, without hopelessly disfiguring the
valley.
When the blow came, it was a sudden one and that
5
84 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
was well. Don Alfredo returned alone one day, from
an extended prospecting tour, and told us that he had
" denounced " another mine. It was situated in the
hot country, on the other side of the mountains, and
was two days' ride from the valley. We decided that
to break up camp and go at once was the only way.
We were fond of the people and they of us. We had
nursed their sick and tended their wounded. And the
people had long since accepted us. Their thoughtful
kindnesses to us were unvarying, and between us there
had grown a bond of mutual trust. We were sad indeed
when we bade them good-by and took leave of the valley
of Huahuapan. That the people were truly sorry too,
I know. Yet we felt the parting more. They had their
" matter-of-course " psychology to console them.
For two days we journeyed coastward, over those
gigantic ranges, down the western slopes toward the
Pacific. The new mine was in the State of Sinaloa at
an altitude of not over fifteen hundred feet. Once ar-
rived there, Don Alfredo imperturbably went about sur-
veying, while Dona Marciana, likewise unperturbed,
again assumed her natural office of homemaker. I felt
the irresistible desire to travel; to become acquainted
with Mexico and the INIexican people. The year I had
spent in the valley wdth my friends had been a happy
one. It was comparable amost to rebirth, amid flawless,
natural environment and with the constant uplift and in-
spiration of the mountains. The region we were now
in was commonplace, by comparison, and while the fu-
ture of the new mine seemed assured, before me stretched
an unattractive vista of dull monotonous years. The
present was insistently calling. I knew that beyond the
mountains was the real Mexico with its opulent cities,
its splendid architecture, and its wealth of romance and
THE ^lAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 85
beauty. These were the things which more than gold
had called me to Mexico. My friends reasoned in vain,
Don Alfredo particularly dwelling on the fine promise
of the new mine. The low, hot country palled upon me.
I was resolved to have a last, long ride through the
mountains, and then take train for Mexico City.
The month was J\Iay, the rains being close at hand.
I began preparations for my journey, and at the thought
of all the strange and delightful experiences before
me, my animation returned. I had engaged an
excellent and favorite mozo, but at the last he fell ill
with fever, and I was forced to take a mozo named
Antonio, whom I had never liked. He was a superior
type, quite white, and of good repute as a guide ; but
he had impressed me as sullen and discontented, and I
always set store by a cheerful mozo. At last my luggage
and grub-box were ready. Dofia Marciana and her In-
dian maid had been engaged for days in preparing various
comestibles ; and while there was an abundance of
tortillas, there were also several loaves of American
bread.
Don Alfredo, true to California tradition, placed his
purse at my disposal and endeavored to force upon me
sundry substantial sums, which I gratefully rejected. I
had ample funds for at least a year, and I was confident
I could earn more before they were exhausted. For the
rest, money borrowed is money to be repaid; and I have
found it easier to avoid all such dealing.
It was hard to leave those kind and true friends, but
I promised that after I had traveled through Mexico I
would return, and the thought of a not distant reunion
made us more cheerful. Antonio being ready for the
start, with the two pack-mules headed up the trail, I
climbed into the saddle and with a parting " Adios ! " I
86 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
turned my face once more towards the mountains.
Soon all sights and sounds of mining industry were left
behind. Again I was amid the silent, fragrant pines.
As we ascended my spirits rose and the charm of life
returned. I felt as though casting off a sort of malig-
nant miasma; and foolish though it may seem, I in-
variably experience this sensation when departing from
the mines into the mountains.
While I had known excellent mozos, Antonio sur-
passed them all for service. He was faultless. He was
lithe, active, very quick on his feet, and careful with the
mules. When we halted for the night, he had the sad-
dles and freight off the animals in a flash, piled for me
a couch of pine boughs, and deftly prepared and served
the supper. As I have said, he was quite white and
seemingly intelligent. But he was extremely taciturn.
The first night, after he had brought my supper, I bade
him eat. With expressionless face he declined, saying
he would eat when I had finished. There was a finality
in his tone which did not brook further condescension.
And while condescension was far from my intent, it
seemed that for him it could have no other meaning.
When I turned in, Antonio carefully spread my blankets
and tucked them under ; he would then crouch before the
fire and smoke, looking fixedly at the flames. What
were his thoughts? I observed his well-formed hands
and feet, his shapely head, and thought he probably
came of good stock. I wondered whether he held the
same opinion, and chafed at being only a mozo. In
no other way could I account for his sullen manner and
manifest discontent. He never neglected his duties, but
would spring up from sound sleep and run swiftly
through the chaparral to keep the mules from straying
too far from camp. Still I did not like him.
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 87
The weather was fine and we had covered ground
each day, Antonio knowing all the short cuts to save dis-
tance. He said we should make Durango on the fourth
day. For my part, I was in no hurry, for this was to
be my last ride in the mountains. I was enjoying every
hour and was even becoming reconciled to my mozo.
The third night we passed in the uplands. The cold was
intense and I woke with a start, about midnight. An-
tonio was sitting by the fire with his brooding gaze upon
me. His eyes met mine, cold and inscrutable. It
seemed his thought was scarcely friendly. I inquired
for the mules, and asked him if he was cold. He said the
mules were all right but was noncommittal as to the
cold. When I suggested coffee he quickly brewed some
and to my surprise, he drank a cup while I was drinking
mine.
We made Durango City on the afternoon of the fourth
day. Since the previous night I had felt more friendly
toward Antonio ; and I was grieved at his asking me to
loan him a hundred dollars. His face lowered and his
eyes gleamed when I declined. I suppose he thought
I was rich. I gave him a handsome gratuity, in addition
to his regular fee ; but he took leave of me with a scowl.
A month after that he shot a man from his own pueblo
for a price. The man was a desperado, and the jefe
politico had offered a hundred dollars for his removal.
So Antonio got the sum. he was in need of after all.
Travel in the mountains being now at an end, I de-
cided to sell my mule. True to herself, she had pre-
served her antipathy toward me to the last. If she was
not glad to find another master, she at least was not
sorry to leave her former one. I also parted with my
saddle and rifle. I had still some clothes in my trunks that
were good enough for city wear, but my stock of Ameri-
88 THE MAN WHO UKES MEXICO
can shoes was exhausted. Before leaving the mines,
I had the forethought to write home for a pair to be sent
by parcel-post, and to my satisfaction I found them
awaiting me in the post-office at Durango.
The following day I took train for Torreon, from
whence I should proceed to Mexico City. As I found
my seat in the Pullman, a lady and gentleman, apparently
Americans, entered the opposite section. I judged that
they were man and wife, that they were just turned
thirty and that they were from New England. I longed
for society, yet felt a sort of shyness that must have been
due to my year in the mountains. I found a book and
began to read, but so attractive were my neighbors, I
found reading out of the question. Soon the gentleman
asked to see my railroad folder and in this way the ice
was broken. Their manners were as charming as their
appearance, and our acquaintance ripened quickly.
" Are you from the United States ? " they asked, almost
simultaneously. And at my replying that I was, they
exchanged glances.
" But how did you guess I was an American ? " I
asked.
" By your shoes ! " they announced with triumph,
" and it was so good to see a brand new pair of Ameri-
can shoes in Mexico."
My new friends, whom I will call the Howards, in-
tended to stop over a day at Zacatecas, and I asked leave
to join them. We arrived in the early evening and
found lodging in " El Zacatecano," an old convent re-
stored as a hotel and with much architectual merit,
especially in the patio. After the cciia or supper, which
in Mexico is a substantial repast with always at least
one meat course, we went to the plaza to hear the band,
which was under the leadership of that splendid maestro,
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 91
Fernando Villalpando. How can any one be sad in
Mexico on a summer's night, with a Mexican band play-
ing the alluring airs of the country?
Mrs. Howard, who was a finished musician, was en-
chanted and insisted on expressing our thanks for the
pleasure the concert had given. We found Sr. Vil-
lalpando a charming and courteous man and after we
had bidden him good night, he had the band play " La
Golondrina," out of compliment to the fair stranger who
had expressed admiration for it. It was then I heard
that lovely and plaintive air for the first time, and my
fondness for it has only increased with the years. The
verse is of Spanish origin and describes the sorrows of
the Moorish ruler, Aben Hamet, on leaving his home in
Granada, when Ferdinand and Isabel expelled the Moors
from Spain. The first verse is as follows : —
" Aben Hamet, al partir de Granada,
Su corazon desgarrado sintio:
Alia en la Vega, al perderia de la vista,
Con debil voz su lamento epreso: —
* Mansion de amores ! Celestial paraiso !
Naci en tu seno do' mil dichas goze;
Voy a partir a lejanas rcgiones,
De donde nunca jamas volvere.' "
"Aben Hamet in parting from Granada,
Felt his heart torn :
There on the Vega, when it was lost to sight,
With faint voice he made lament : —
* Mansion of loves ! Celestial Paradise !
I was born on thy bosom where I knew a thousand
joys;
Now I depart to distant regions,
From whence I shall never — never return.'"
I have heard that in the dwellings of the Spanish
Moors in Africa there still hang the massive keys to
92 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
their lost homes in Granada ; and that for generations
they cherished the hope to return. Such is man's love of
home.
The next day we visited the training school for boys,
at Sr. Villalpando's invitation, and heard the boys' band,
made up of youngsters all the way from ten years up-
ward. They showed the effect of training by a master
hand and played astonishingly well, rendering both
Mexican and American airs : among them I remember
" Hail Columbia " and " La Paloma."
Directly after dinner we set out to visit the Church
of Guadalupe, which is very famous, both architecturally
and for its paintings. This church, which is in the en-
virons of Zacatecas, is reached by street car. On the
car I made an inquiry of a young man who sat next to me
and he replied in excellent English. He proved an in-
teresting talker and we chatted together during the rest
of the journey. As we were leaving the car, IMr. How-
ard whispered, " Ask him to go with us," and I lost no
time in issuing the invitation, which my new acquaint-
ance gracefully accepted, as though receiving an atten-
tion instead of granting one. We discovered later that
he had put himself out not a little, for he was an attor-
ney and had gone there on business ; but with him, as
with the majority of the Mexicans, courtesy to strangers
was of first importance.
It is an easy matter to see Mexico's churches, if one
is satisfied with merely entering the church and perhaps
penetrating as far as the sacristy. To go further, an
introduction is indispensable. Our new acquaintance,
whose name was Sr. Ramirez, readily secured permis-
sion for us to go wherever we liked ; and with him we
visited the ancient convent, and ascended mysterious
stairways leading into dark and silent corridors, whose
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 93
walls were hnng with ancient paintings, dim with dust
and age. JMeantime Sr. Ramirez, who was thoroughly
familiar with the history of the church, related many
interesting and thrilling events that had transpired there.
On our way back to the hotel, I told Sr. Rami-
rez that Mrs. Howard sang charmingly. At that he
had a brilliant idea: he declared that he should organize
a musical without delay and that it should take
place that very night. In the evening he appeared
and announced that all was arranged. He escorted
us to the rooms of the club, of which he was a
member, where a party of his friends were already
assembled to receive us. Then followed one of the
most delightful evenings of my experience. There
was that slight strangeness on both sides, that lent a
piquancy to the most trivial event ; and there was,
at the same time, that sympathy that immediately ob-
tains amongst music lovers, despite the fact that they
may have met for the first and the last time. I remember
that we had the serenade of Braga, with violin obligato.
One of the young men played Beethoven superbly and
the violinist had magic in his finger tips. There were
Mexican danzas, and English songs rendered by Mrs.
Howard: of the latter, I think "Annie Laurie" made
the greatest impression. It seems to have been written
not for the Saxon race alone, but for all men alike ; ap-
pealing with the sweet melody, even when the verse is
not understood.
We were amazed to find it was midnight and still we
lingered for one more song. When we reached our
hotel we found a parcel awaiting us. It was a present
from Sr. Villalpando : a copy for each of us of his
magnificent " Marcha Funebre," which was rendered at
the funeral of Victor Hugo.
94 THE MAN WHO UKES MEXICO
As I recall that night the face of the violinist comes
back most vividly. Jt is strange what slight things make
a lasting impression. On the night of the musical, wine
was served and as we were taking it, I noticed this youth
hovering near the chair of the American sefiora. He
was a handsome fellow, quite fair, with a bright, boyish
face and graceful bearing. Several others surrounded
her, engaging her in conversation ; this boy seemed
worshiping from a distance. Suddenly he darted for-
ward and the next instant he was bending before her
to take the wine glass. It was that he had been waiting
for. There was a charming savor of old-time gallantry
in the act. While other courtiers had vied for the lady's
favor, this knight stood by, waiting to serve her. That
boy was subsequently killed by a rival in love. I have
received an account of the tragedy, but what is the use
of repeating it? The bright young life is gone out and
no bitter words of mine can bring it back. I shall re-
member him as he played the " Angel's Serenade," with
his cheek bent lovingly to the violin ; and later, as he
stood waiting to take the wine glass of the American
senora.
Throughout our stay Sr. Ramirez was unfailing in
his attention. With him, we saw the churches and the
schools and under his guidance we made our pilgrimage
to the little chapel on the heights, el Santuario de la
Biifa, where many of the devout go to pray daily, and
where all Zacatecas repairs, once a year, during the feast
attending the anniversary of its consecration.
The following morning, he presented me with a paper
on which were neatly written a number of important
datos, regarding the history of the city. This w^as en-
tirely his own idea and I felt duly grateful. He had
Zacatecas cathedral
t'luirch of (iiiadalupe, Zacatecas
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 97
written it in Spanish and I give the translation as nearly
as possible.
" The Indian town of Zacatecas was discovered, so
says Padre Frejes, in the year 1531, by Pedro Almendes
Chirinos. It was conqnered the 8th of September, 1546,
by Juan de Tolosa. On the nth of June, 1548, they
discovered the vein of " San Bernabe " which was the
first silver mine.
" On the 20th of July, 1588, Zacatecas was elevated to
the category of Noble y Leal Ciudad, by act of Felipe II.
" The Convent of San Agustin, now the Hotel Zaca-
tecano and Presbyterian Temple, was erected in 1576
by the R, P. Alonso Quezada and rebuilt in 161 3 by
D, Agustin Zavala.
" Of the chapel of IMexicalpa (one of the first
chapels), the date of construction is not known, but it is
very old.
" El Santuario de la Bufa (the little chapel on the
heights) was founded in 1548, but it was afterwards
destroyed. The present chapel was erected over the
ruins by the Sr. D. Jose Rivera Eernardez, Conde de
Santiago de la Laguna and Colonel of Infantry. The
count was also a famous writer and philanthropist.
" The temple was consecrated by the Ilmo, Sr. D.
Nicolas Carlos Gomez Cervantes, Bishop of Guadalajara,
on the 29th day of June, 1728."
The bones of the noble Conde de la Laguna repose
in the crypt of the church of Santo Domingo. This
splendid edifice, wdiich fronts on the same square with
the post office, was begun in 1746 and completed in 1769,
which seems remarkable, especially as the cathedral has
never been completed. The exterior of Santo Domingo
is very fine. The interior was being restored, at a cost
of about eight thousand dollars, but it is seldom that the
98 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
restoring process is an improvement to Mexico's
churches. The paintings are nearly all by Francisco
Martinez Sanchez; and one in the sacristy is dated 1749.
In the church there is also a Cabrera which is very well
preserved. Santo Domingo was originally the seat of
the Inquisition, and the painter Sanchez was also its
notary.
We were returning from the sacristy to the church,
when I sav*' two of the attendants lifting a heavy door
in the floor, and without a word we were ushered down
a long flight of steps. The chamber at the bottom was
scarcely visible in the dim light but the sacristan brought
a candle, and we found we were in a crypt, surrounded
by tombs, some ten or a dozen in all. On the door of
one was the following inscription : " Here repose the
remains of the Respectable Padre Fray Gregorio Moya,
who died in the year 1680, and whose body was en-
countered without corruption, iii years after death."
Within this tomb, which was of wood, were two mum-
mies in robes which seemed to have ossified as well.
The quaint shoes, with large buckles, were still intact.
In climbing up to examine them, I inadvertently
clapped my hat on the back of my head, whereupon Sr.
Ramirez kindly removed it without a word. In a long,
cofiin-like box we saw the remains of the count, which
have lain there over two centuries. He must have been
over six feet in his stockings. The sacristan said that
until a few years ago, the count's red mantle was toler-
ably well preserved. Lime has recently been put in the
cofiin and now no sign of the mantle remains.
The most remarkable mummy was in a closed cell,
with a small aperture at the top. Peering through this I
saw the form of a priest, standing erect in one corner,
with his hands crossed on his breast. The head and
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 99
face were but slightly disfigured and the body seemed to
have retained its proportions. The robes, which were
gray with dust, fell in statuesque folds and the whole
had the look of a carving in stone. At his feet crouched
a small dog, as though cut out of the same stone. I
wondered if that dog followed the body of his master
and was walled in by mistake !
Zacatecas was building an immense state hospital, of
brick and stone, severely plain, with an inside court and
a fountain. I asked whence the water would come.
The reply was " Quien sabe ? " This lack of water is
a serious thing : almost as sad as a lack of bread.
The city's elevation is 8,ock) feet. Its people num-
bered then 30,000. In 1892 the official count showed
42,000 and in 1887, 75,000. Sr. Ramirez said it was
unlikely there would be a further drop, as already la-
borers were scarce. Some of the mines were still in
good metal. The Zacatecas miners are known through-
out the republic as good workmen, and I have met them
in the mountains of northern Durango trotting along the
trail leading to some big camp, in search of employment.
In the afternoon, being left to my own resources, I
started just before sunset for La Bufa ; and trudged
slowly up the steep mountain, past the Indian huts
and the little hump-backed boy, tending his goats among
the rocks, reaching the chapel just as the sun disap-
peared behind the mountains opposite. The sky of
Zacatecas was more deeply, intensely blue than any I
had seen elsewhere, and retained its vivid quality at
night, changing from azure to a deep and then a deeper
sapphire. I watched the blue grow darker till it
swallowed up the primrose line of the horizon, and then
saw in the west a crescent moon and one brilliant star.
Soon all the stars came out and the trail, which a mo-
loo THE MAN WHO UKES MEXICO
ment before had looked dark was light enough for the
descent. On my way down I met the lone figure of a
woman, shrouded in a black shawl, toiling up the rocky
path to the chapel, which shone white and bold in the
starlight.
What gleams so bright from the mountain height.
Amid the stars of the sober night?
'Tis the light on the holy chapel wall,
Inviting the pilgrim to pray in its hall.
We left Zacatecas the following morning. Sr.
Ramirez, attentive to the last, came to see us off. He
was one of the first of many kind accjuaintances we
made in traveling and his was the customary courtesy
of Mexico.
My American friends, whose immediate destination
was Guana jtiato, had to change trains at Silao ; and while
I felt inclined to continue in their company, the desire
to see Mexico City, la Capital as she is called, was over-
mastering. She is to Mexico as New York to America,
Paris to France, Madrid to Spain. She had drawn me
to her with irresistible charm ever since I could remem-
ber. I had Prescott's " Conquest " and Wallace's " The
Fair God " in my trunks, and meant to read them again
within her very gates. So now that only an afternoon
and night intervened, I determined to continue on the
train. After a farewell luncheon with my friends at the
Silao station, with a dish of luscious strawberries, they
took the branch road for Guanajuato and I continued on
to Mexico.
I awoke at seven o'clock the next morning, just as
our train entered the station. Picking a couple of stout
cargadores or porters, I gave them my trunk checks
and at the same time recorded the numbers displayed on
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO loi
their metal badges. I then took a coach and told the
coachman to drive me to Calle San Agustin. I had
with me two letters of introduction; one from a young
Mexican in the mines to a friend who was studying
engineering in Mexico City ; and another from an Ameri-
can in the mines to an American who was practising his
profession in Mexico City. The letter to the young
IMexican was directed to his boarding-place, and I pre-
sented it at once, as I desired to secure lodging there.
From the moment that this young man, Don Juan he
was called by all his friends, read the letter and offered
me his hand, placing himself unconditionally at my serv-
ice, he became a sincere, useful and devoted friend.
The apparent reason for this was that a mutual friend
had recommended me. He was the son of a well-to-do
family residing in one of the smaller cities, and was in
JMexico City completing his education. He at once pre-
sented me to the lady of the house, with whom I ar-
ranged- to take a large comfortable room, opening on
the flower-filled patio, and my meals, for the moderate
sum of $40.00 per month Mexican money.
My Spanish, after a year in the mountains, was ex-
ecrable. Finding slight inclination or time to study, I
had learned it from the mountain people. Don Juan,
who had a gentle manner and a most cheery smile, at
once volunteered to take my Spanish in hand and to con-
verse with me whenever we both were at leisure. I
accepted with the condition that I should teach him
English ; and while he acquiesced with apparent delight,
I discovered that this was merely courtesy. His part
of the contract he kept, but I was unable to fulfill mine
as he cheerfully insisted on speaking Spanish whenever
we were together. There were about forty men living
at this house, all young, and either at college or just be-
I02 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
ginning to practise their profession or calling. Only
Spanish was spoken, and each one good-naturedly joined
in my instruction. For six months I blundered without
compunction. For six more I suffered real mortifica-
tion, for I had learned enough to realize how atrociously
I violated the language. At the end of a year my
friends said I spoke quite well. I read Spanish with
ease at least and understood all that I heard. I went
often to the theater, and the greater number of my
acquaintances and friends were Mexicans ; so that I
heard it constantly spoken. One morning, on waking,
I was conscious of a dream, in which my thought or
meditation had been in Spanish. I was overjoyed at
this, and while I knew I had begun too late to ever
speak it with perfection, I knew too that in a sense I
at last possessed it. It would be idle to speculate as to
the effect of language upon life, but Spanish, I believe,
has enriched life for me at least one hundred per cent.
It was Don Juan who first guided me about the streets
of the magical city, Mexico, the pride of the Spaniards,
built over the ruins of Tenochtitlan, pride of the Aztecs.
My kind young friend, in whose veins coursed the blood
of both these noble races, strolled beside me, murmuring
in his soft, pleasant voice the facts that I ought to know :
— population about five hundred thousand ; altitude a lit-
tle over seven thousand feet ; many foreigners in the
capital, mostly in trade, — Spaniards in provisions and
wines, French in dry goods, Germans in drugs and hard-
ware, Americans in mining and everything else. The
city was healthful, though one must be careful at night
not to sleep with open windows. The volcanoes, Popo-
catepetl and Ixtaccihuatl, were not visible in the after-
noon, at this season, but the next morning he would
call me to see them. They were ten thousand feet
i'aseo de la Kefurnia, .Mexico City
THE :^IAX WHO UKES :\rEXICO 105
higher than the city, with a total height of about seven-
teen thousand feet.
I heard the foregoing as through a pleasant dream.
At last, after a life of anticipation, I was in Mexico.
Everything charmed me ; the houses, with their transient
glimpses of interior gardens and fountains ; the pleasant
monotony of the sky-line, broken at intervals by superb
towers and domes; and the Alameda with its fine trees
and military band ; the people in carriages and the people
on foot ; the composite life of the street ; the color, the ani-
mation, the happiness. We walked through San Fran-
cisco and Plateros to the great plaza, where stand the
Cathedral and both the National and the Municipal
Palace. Don Juan said we must ascend one of the
Cathedral towers for a view of the city; so we climbed
the massive, stone stairs, being halted midway by a
gate, where the porter had his habitation with his wife
and children, and taxed each visitor six cents for the
view from the tower. When at last we had reached it
we found the volcanoes had emerged from their clouds
and stood forth in dazzling white splendor, against the
blue. I observed that there were broad balustrades
providing comfortable seats and nooks in the masonry
where one might sit all day and read.
The next morning I again sought the tower, with
Prescott's " Conquest " for my companion ; and with fre-
quent glances at the city and the wide valley, spread on
every side to the foot of the mountains, I read again,
on that day and many more days, the story that is doubt-
less one of the most amazing and fascinating in the his-
tory of the world. The scenes of the main episodes of
the conquest were before me. To the south stretched
the causeway over which in 15 19 Cortes and his men
first entered the Aztec capital. In that square, where
io6 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
the Cathedral and palaces now stand, he lodged his
soldiers, and there he held Montezuma as hostage. To
the west, over what is now Calle de Tacuba, he led his
desperate forces in retreat, on " the Sad Night " ; and
his favorite, Alvarado, called by the Indians, " Child of
the Sun," made his famous leap over the heads of his
companions, who with their horses were floundering to
their death in the ooze of the Canal. On that site of
Mexico's great Cathedral there towered the Aztec
Temple dedicated to the Heathen Gods. From their
encampment without the city, the Spaniards saw their
captive-comrades ascending the steps of the temple, to
die on the sacrificial stone as an offering to the war god,
Huitzilopochtli. And there they returned, in their day
of triumph, to hurl down the god from his throne and
level the temple walls in the dust. In the National
Museum, not a square distant, both war god and sacri-
ficial stone afforded weighty proof of the truth of it all.
I did not live wholly in the past, for there was the
city life, vivid, real, exciting, — insisting that I should
share it. In the afternoons I forgot the past and
enjoyed the life of Modern ]\Iexico. The most at-
tractive point in Mexico's capital between the hours
of 4 and 7 p. m. especially on Sunday and Thurs-
day, is the Pasco de la Rcforma, where one hears'
a superb military band and sees not only the beauty and
fashion of Mexico, but a sprinkling of all sorts and
conditions that help form its population. While the
Paseo is comparatively a short drive, its magnificent
trees, fine roads, and charming vista terminating in the
castle-crowned heights of Chapultepec, together with the
anticipation of the beautiful grove beyond, all serve to
make it delightful. At the approach there is a gigantic
equestrian statue of Carlos IV of Spain, which is called
THE MAN WHO LIKES ^lEXICO 107
familiarly by the people, Caballito (Little Horse). It
is recorded on the base that it weighs 22^ tons, — was
cast in one pouring by ]\Ianuel Tolsa, director of sculp-
ture at the Academy, in 1802, and that the chiseling and
burnishing occupied fourteen months. It was placed on
its present site in 1852, having formerly stood in the Plaza
Mayor. The entrance to the drive is also guarded by
two enormous bronze figures of Indian warriors.
A far more interesting monument stands in the third
gloricta. It bears the inscription, " To the ]\Iemory of
Cuauhtemoc and of the warriors who fought so heroic-
ally in defense of their country in 1521." On the base
are two fine bas-reliefs. One represents the capture of
Cuauhtemoc at the moment when he was brought to the
presence of Cortes, to whom he made his memorable
speech of surrender: " Malinche, I have done what I
could in defense of this city and of my nation," and
placing his hand on the conqueror's dagger, " Take this
now and kill me ! " The other depicts his subsequent
torture, which failed to elicit so much as a groan, still
less the desired information about the treasure. Above
are blazoned the names of Indian nobles and patriots,
and the whole is surmounted by the bronze figure of an
Indian of heroic size with spear uplifted as though to
hurl it at the foe. The monument is flanked on either
side by the broad driveway and an imposing semi-cir-
cular bench of stone. From this vantage-point one may
listen to the music and watch the passing show.
At the first notes of the band there are few turnouts
visible, but their numbers rapidly increase until the road
is soon thronged with carriages, automobiles, eques-
trians and foot passengers. There rides a lady gowned
in pale lavender, the latest Paris creation, no doubt ; her
faultless victoria drawn by a pair of high-stepping bays
io8 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
clocked a la Inglesa, and with two men in livery up in
front. She is followed by a pair of beautiful black
horses with flowing manes and tails, their fine heads
and sensitive nostrils suggesting an Arab strain. They
draw a brougham faultless as the .victoria, but the owner
has chosen to retain one feature essentially of the coun-
try. The coachman, a dark swarthy fellow, wears a
tight-fitting suit of black and a huge sombrero, thus
adding a picturesque quality. There rides a young
caballero in all the bravery of IMexican attire, both his
suit and hat elaborately trimmed with silver. His horse,
a mettlesome gray, seems to step the prouder for the
silver-mounted trappings. At his side a youth of as
many years has adopted the English mode and rides a
stylish trotter, rising in the stirrups in approved form.
Now a ranchero reins his pacing mule to listen to the
music. Behind him is a tiny mite of a boy, his chubby
legs tied in the thongs of the Mexican saddle — his
hands clutching his father's jacket, while he looks amaze-
ment from a pair of big black eyes. The crowd in-
creases. There a peon in brilliant zarape is buying dukes
for his wife and child who sit on the curbstone and
blissfully devour the sweets. Here a woman walks,
graceful, barefooted, carrying an immense earthen jar
on her head, and passing amid all this gay throng, come
some freighters with their band of sleek-coated mules.
During this scene of tropical color, beauty and luxury,
at a stone's throw have been passing innumerable little
street cars, some of them draped in black, others in
white, surmounted by crosses, and bearing suggestive
coffin-shaped boxes. These have gradually ceased, how-
ever. New equipages laden with beautiful women dash
past. One catches a fleeting glimpse of dark eyes and of
jeweled fingers twirled rapidly at some passing friend.
1
i
^H^H^^^^^^Ht / /y Y^^^
w •■' ''^''
'M^^m
LM}
llfe^B^IH
■Mi
^^^^^H^^hBHV'M:^!!
Mexico, May 20, 1898
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO in
A young Southerner romantically inclined says they make
him think of twinkling stars which are now beginning to
show over the tree tops. The sun has dropped behind
the mountain, there is a young moon overhead, — the
strains of La Golondrina float across the Paseo, — the
scene is one not to be forgotten. It is la noche and even-
ing life has begun in the gayest city of the Republic.
The Howards arrived in Mexico a few days later than
I, with enthusiastic accounts of the picturesque charm of
Guanajuato. I soon learned that Mr. Howard's para-
mount desire was to meet the President of Mexico, and as
he carried credentials from the highest sources, both offi-
cial and social, his pretensions seemed not unreasonable.
For the rest, he pursued his goal with the unwavering as-
surance peculiar to men of his race. He had brought let-
ters to Senator de Herrera of Chihuahua, and it was no
surprise when he informed me that the Senator would
present us to President Diaz at the National Palace the
following day.
On our entering the presidential apartment, the ante-
room was deserted as was also the receiving room into
which the Senator conducted us. The next moment,
President Diaz entered. His presence was extremely
commanding, — not haughty but dominant. His counte-
nance was handsome and rather impassive, his com-
plexion fresh and sanguine, his eye large, dark and at
that moment mild. His hand-shake was firm and cordial
and his hand warm and dry, denoting perfect circulation.
Mr. Howard at once delivered to the President a mes-
sage from his father, an elderly gentleman, who had al-
ways followed the career of the President with admira-
tion, and who now begged that he would send him, by
the hand of his son, a signed photograph. Thereupon the
President signed and gave us two photographs. But Mr.
112 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
Howard, who possessed a naive and charming manner,
asked to be permitted to photograph the President with
his own camera. The President seemed agreeably im-
pressed by the sincerity of his request, and we were ac-
cordingly bidden to visit him the following Sunday
morning at Chapultepec Castle.
On Sunday morning at ten o'clock we went to Cha-
pultepec. The President received us with distinct kind-
ness, dismissed his attendant, and led us upon the terrace.
The month was May. The light was golden, the sky
blue, with no premonition of the afternoon shower. On
the west and south rose giant cypress trees, the pleasure-
groves of Aztec emperors before the coming of the Span-
iards. On the east, was the broad Paseo de la Reforma,
fringed with tall eucalyptus trees, leading straight to the
city, whose towers we could plainly see. We could even
hear the Cathedral bells. From this same terrace the
Empress Carlota watched, on summer evenings, for the
coming of Maximilian, who had endeavored to reproduce
here all the beauty of Miramar. The frescoes and fur-
nishings were still eloquent of the luxurious tastes of the
Austrian Arch-Duke and his beautiful consort, whose
hand was especially revealed in the charming interior gar-
dens.
The Senator, glowing with pride, had just entreated us
to admire once more the beauties of Popocatepetl and
Ixtaccihuatl, limned in snowy profile against the blue, and
under the spell of their enchantment we followed the
President to the north terrace where historical fact
awaited us. While history by no means precludes en-
chantment, it is not its distinguishing feature ; but we had
been reading Prescott, and the romance of the Conquest
possessed us. We were surrounded by reminders of the
brief reign of Maximilian, and these though sad are in
Castle of Cliapultepec
Corridor of Chapultepec
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 115
the main beautiful. Is it easy to be unmindful of our
own trespasses? I confess I scarcely remembered the
war of '47. Then came the grim fact, — on that field the
Mexican and American armies met : at that precise angle
of the cliffs, our soldiers scrambled, tooth and nail, to
assault and capture the castle. I learned now, for the
first time, that it was defended by boys who were cadets
in the military school, — some only fourteen years old.
The President, when he had indicated the exact point
of attack, started to move on. Our kind friend, the
Senator, began speaking rapidly, half in extenuation, — I
remember he placed much stress on the fact that it all
happened a good many years ago. He could not but
speak thrillingly of those boy-heroes, — his son was even
then a cadet in Chapultepec Academy, — but he also paid
a tribute to the bravery of the Americans. The Mexi-
can boys were young lions, the Senator said, — they died
like men. The young color-bearer, fatally wounded,
clutched the flag in his arms and hurled himself over the
embankment, rather than surrender. And an American
officer, when he saw the wounded and dying boys, shed
tears and said they were too young, — that they should
not have been there to die so young. Then the Senator
spoke of the monument to their memory, where each
year, after the President has placed a wreath with his
own hand, the American Ambassador goes also to offer
a floral tribute in honor of the boy martyrs. The Presi-
dent listened gravely and at mention of the wreaths
bowed slightly in acquiescence.
It was here that American diplomacy, of a high order,
informed by intelligent sympathy, projected itself on the
disturbed psychology of the moment. Mr. Howard, a
typical Saxon, blue-eyed, smiling, sunny of look and na-
ture,— his sweet American girl-wife clinging to his arm.
Ii6 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
— had listened with rapt attention and serious mien. I
attribute to him a high order of diplomacy, because his
words and manner seemed exactly right. Mrs. Howard
confided to me afterwards that she was sure he would
say something.
" I am glad, Mr. President," he began, and his tone
was courteous as it was untroubled, " that in later years,
during the French intervention, my country was enabled
to perform a service for Mexico."
It was then President Diaz pronounced these words
which I shall always remember :
" Nations are like boys. When they are young, they
quarrel. When they are older, they help each other."
The situation was saved. Did the President sense our
anxiety or our relief? The hero of many wars might
well be insensible to the trepidations of mere mortals.
Yet if he was quite unconscious of ours, why did he at
that moment turn and graciously offer his arm to Mrs.
Howard? Her spirits now regained their natural buoy-
ancy and sweetness. Did the President speak English?
He regretted that he did not. Naturally she demanded
an interpreter, and I was chosen for this useful if dif-
ficult ofifice. My Spanish was almost nil and my embar-
rassment was heightened, inasmuch as I had heard that
while the President did not converse in English, he under-
stood it quite well. But by this time, his direct and
simple kindness, which only enhanced his nobility of man-
ner, had cast upon us such a magical charm, that all that
followed took on a natural, almost a homely quality. I
even felt that blunders in Spanish would be regarded with
indulgence.
Meantime Mr. Howard had adjusted his camera and
begun the business of snap-shotting the President. Trot-
ting about him in most nonchalant fashion he photo-
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 117
graphed him at various angles, and then, with his most
poHte if somewhat brief American bow, he would wave
his hand toward an adjacent chair and say, " Please be
seated, Sir ! " And the President of Mexico, the " Man
of Iron," with composed and serious look, but with, I was
certain, an amused twinkle in his eye would seat himself
to be photographed. The remarkable thing was that, as
I have said, all seemed perfectly natural.
It was during luncheon, where we were unostenta-
tiously served by an Indian butler, that President Diaz
spoke of Mexico, and especially of the friendship existing
between Mexico and the United States. He said it was
our revolution and achievement that had heartened Mex-
ico to cast off the yoke of Spain ; that Mexico's govern-
ment w^as modeled, so far as possible, after ours,
Mr. Howard then likened Hidalgo to Washington;
Juarez to Lincoln ; Diaz to Grant. The President then
proposed the health of the President of the United States.
A curious mistake occurred while we were at table, show-
ing the difficulty of social intercourse between people of
different tongues. Mr. Howard, who was a brilliant
talker, and who manifested implicit though somewhat
misplaced confidence in the versatility of his interpreters,
desired to give an essentially American toast in honor of
the President. He began with a reference to our favorite
actor, Jefferson, and turning to the President said, " Sir,
may you live long and prosper! " Senator Ilerrera, who
was in excellent spirits and eager to aid Mr. Howard,
said rapidly, " He desires to honor the memory of their
great president Jefferson." I was too rattled to interpose
in time, and the toast was politely drunk.
It was when he spoke of Mexico and her future, that
Diaz glowed as with an inner flame. Sometimes his eye
flashed, — again it softened and became suffused. We
Il8 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
were awed and deeply affected. We felt that we were
in the presence of a great and holy passion, — the passion
of a patriot for his country. Somehow I forgot his
greatness, — his eyes filled with tears as he talked of his
hopes for Mexico. But I saw the great compelling mo-
tive of his life, his love of country.
The President walked with us to the elevator in the
enclosed garden which descends through a shaft cut in
the solid rock. In taking leave of him, Mrs. Howard
desired me to express our gratitude for his exceeding
kindness, and this I endeavored to do. " You merit it,"
was his reply. We were silent throughout our return
drive to the city, through the Paseo de la Re forma. The
magnitude of our enterprise had begun to dawn upon
us. We had been for a whole forenoon with one of the
great rulers of the world ; yet so indulgent was his kind-
ness, for the time we had only realized that we were
happy.
The good and gentle Senator soon afterwards returned
to his estates in the northern part of the republic and my
American friends continued their journeyings to other
countries. A year later Mr. Howard wrote me, " I have
always intended to write an account of our morning with
President Diaz at Chapultepec ; but he is such a big fel-
low, I am afraid to tackle him." I confess to the same
feeling, a feeling of awe, of veneration. Yet it was a
real experience, — the biggest one of my life. And now,
of that party of friends who went to pay their homage
to Mexico's president on Chapultepec heights, I alone
remain.
Throughout the ensuing years I saw the President con-
stantly. I saw him reviewing the army on field days,
presiding at official ceremonies, laying corner-stones,
dedicating edifices. He was always unchanged, — always
Garden tjf Chapultepec
dale til ( hapuhupi-c niiiitary ci>lie<;e
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 121
alert, impassive, clear-eyed, commanding, dignified : al-
ways on time, no matter what the hour or the weather,
thus quietly enforcing the rule of promptness in this
pleasant land of manana. It seemed that in this habit
of punctuality, as in all his daily life, he was modestly
and unobtrusively setting a good example to the men in
Mexico, whether native or foreign. And while the light
beats fiercely on the President's chair as on the throne,
no stain on the private life of Diaz has been revealed,
even to his enemies.
As for the achievement of President Diaz, all the world
knows that he went into office as provisional president in
1876, it being formally decreed by Congress in April of
the following year that he serve as Constitutional Presi-
dent for a term expiring in November, 1880. He de-
clined reelection, in accordance with the provisions of
the Constitution. At the expiration of the term of
Gonzalez in 1884, Diaz was again elected. One of his'
first acts was to reduce the President's salary from
$30,000 to $15,000. He established schools and com-
pulsory education. He made Mexico safe for foreigners,
and invited them to come in and develop her marvelous
resources, mineral, agricultural, industrial, — to the ad-
vantage of Mexico and to their own enrichment. He
once told me, in course of conversation, that he wel-
comed the coming to Mexico of young, intelligent, con-
structive Americans. He made possible the complete
railway systems, which have brought about a remarkable
development in national and international communication,
both industrial and intellectual. Above all, he fostered
and maintained peace for thirty years.
In order to justly appreciate the achievement of Diaz,
we should note the following chronological events, as af-
fecting the social and political evolution of Mexico.
122 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
1325 The Aztecs (ancient Mexicans) took possession of the Val-
ley of Mexico. Their origin is mystery. At the time of
the Spanish conquest, the Aztecs had either subjugated or
were at war with the other Indian nations.
1502 Montezuma became Emperor of the Aztecs.
1519 Cortes landed on the Mexican coast.
1520 Montezuma died.
1521 Cortes captured the Aztec capital, now Mexico City.
1522 The first Catholic church was founded in Mexico.
1527 All the picture-writings and other manuscripts of the Aztecs
were taken from the national archives and burned.
1531 The miracle of the Virgin of Guadalupe, the Patroness of
Mexico.
1547 Cortes died.
1571 The Inquisition was established in Mexico.
1810 The priest, Hidalgo, proclaimed Mexican Independence.
181 1 Hidalgo was captured and shot.
1813 First Mexican congress.
1814 First Mexican constitution.
1820 Inquisition was suppressed.
1821 Mexican Independence was consummated.
1822 Iturbide was named Emperor. Santa Ana declared for a
republic.
1823 Iturbide abdicated. Monroe Doctrine proclaimed. Iturbide
shot.
1835 Rebellion of Texas.
1845 Annexation of Texas.
1846 United States war with Mexico.
1848 Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo.
1859 Reform laws promulgated by Juarez.
1862 French army invaded Mexico.
1864 Maximilian was crowned Emperor.
1865 Mr. Seward's note to France, demanding the withdrawal of
her army.
1867 French army withdrawn. Diaz captured Puebla. Maxi-
milian was shot. Diaz captured City of Mexico.
1876 Diaz proclaimed Provisional President.
1877 Diaz elected Constitutional President.
1880 Gonzalez elected President.
1884 Diaz elected President.
San Ipolito, Mexico City, the first cliuich built
after the conquest
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 125
During Mexico's centenary celebration in 19 10, on the
birthday of President Diaz, which falls on September
15th, the day preceding that of Mexico's independence,
I passed before him in line with the visiting newspaper
men, who were the guests of the Mexican federal gov-
ernment. We had been advised not to address him in
English. When I shook his hand, I said in Spanish,
" May you have a very long life, Sir, and may the
country continue happy ! " He gripped my hand firmly,
smiled and bowed, and I passed on to make way for the
next man in line.
President Diaz should have a long life. He comes
of a hardy race and his habits are conducive to longevity.
His magnanimity has long since elevated him above any
personal ambition or self-interest. His identity is
merged completely with the national life. And in the
future peace and prosperity of Mexico he will continue
to find happiness. He may see firmly established the
era he so confidently proclaimed when nations, grown
older, help one another.
CHAPTER V
Peaceful Morelia : Lake Patzcuaro : Tzintzuntzan : U'ruapan
and its Boom : A Fortunate Washout : Progress Comes to
Him Who Waits : Products of Uruapan : Ideal Climate in the
Tropics : Something About Saddle-Horses : Michoacan and
the Tarascos: Burial of a Tarasco King: Solemnity of the
Indians: Their Arts and Crafts.
AT the house where I was staying were young
men from every part of Mexico. Pleased at
my enjoyment of their country, they wished me
to see the whole of it, and from them I had much
advice about traveling. A city they especially recom-
mended was Morelia, the capital of Michoacan, assur-
ing me that the Cathedral was the finest in the republic.
On the same line were Lake Patzcuaro, with Tzin-
tzuntzan and the supposed Titian painting, and the charm-
ing old city of Uruapan, to which the railroad had just
penetrated.
On a morning in June I took the 7:10 train out of
Mexico for Morelia. The rains had begun their freshen-
ing work and it was good to see the gaunt horses and
cattle cropping the tender grass, while an occasional
frisky colt or calf kicked his heels in the air. The con-
ductor said that was just the way he felt when he got
down to a lower altitude, and expressed the friendly
conviction that when I got to Uruapan I should feel that
way too. As the road approached the summit, which
is about 3,000 feet higher than Mexico, I began to be
126
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 127
very hungry. Fortunately there were Indian women
at every station with food — such as it was !
At Flor de Maria which we reached at 12:10 p.m.
there was a good substantial dinner ; and from that point
the train glided down through a gently rolling country,
where the green plains stretch away on every side, with
an occasional hacienda or white church tower, till Ihey
are lost in the blue of the mountains.
We arrived at Alorelia about eight o'clock in the
evening. It is a restful city, built on a hill which slopes
gradually on every hand, affording perfect drainage,
and is swept by cool breezes from the mountains. There
is little noise at night save the monotonous cry of the
street vendor. The city is brilliantly lighted by elec-
tricity, which makes the streets, almost deserted after
nine o'clock, seem still more solitary. Even the Cathe-
dral towers have each a three-light cluster of incandes-
cents. The Morelia Cathedral deserves its fame for
beauty. The church is flanked on either side by a
plaza filled with tropical verdure and blossoms. I have
never seen a city with so many plazas. In all, the trees
and plants have that casual arrangement which is the
perfection of landscape gardening, and seems peculiar
to Mexico.
Morelia is a city of fine buildings, massive enough to
last through the ages. One constantly wonders where
the people are. There are few carriages of any de-
scription, but I saw many fine saddle horses. One gets
the impression of wealth on every hand, in the buildings
in general, but above all in the churches. A unique
group are the church of Las Monjas, with the sumptuous
Colcgio de Guadalupe for girls on one side, and the
very plain but orderly barracks elbowing it on the other.
The bells keep up a constant warning for the faithful.
128 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
From the college come sweet-faced children to buy
dulces at the street corner. Soldiers lounge in front of
the barracks, and within are heard the bugle call and
drum-taps. The most noticeable movement in the city
is at night and morning when the women carry water
from the various fountains, an ever-graceful and in-
teresting sight. The people are invariably soft-spoken
and courteous.
I saw a lot of prisoners at work on the street, and
as none had really bad faces I asked what they had
done. My informant crooked his elbow and placed his
thumb suggestively to his lips. Too much tequila
(brandy) ! This gentleman was reclining on the edge of
a fountain. The soldier in charge was leaning against a
telegraph pole. The prisoners, with one or two excep-
tions, were resting on their shovels. I sank into a con-
venient stone seat, and we all rested.
The city of Morelia is named for the great Morelos,
the formation of his name suggesting that of Bolivia
from Bolivar. The population is estimated at thirty-
seven thousand. I shall never cease to question the ac-
curacy of these figures.
I took my departure at 7 a. m. A number of the in-
habitants were in sight but the only active members were
the porter with my trunk, and his reproduction, on a
small scale, with my basket balanced on his head.
The road between Morelia and Patzcuaro presents a
vista of more rolling prairies, towering mountain-ranges
and the beautiful Patzcuaro lake. The ride takes two
hours. At Patzcuaro an Indian transferred my trunk
and ran in front of the mules all the way to the
hotel to unload it. He then constituted himself my
guide for all expeditions, and offered to see me through
on horseback or to tote me as he did my trunk if I
Cathedral ui .Morelia
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 131
preferred. I knew I should like Patzcuaro because the
AIoreHa people said it was ugly. It is an ancient pueblo,
built on a hill, which slopes away to the blue waters of
the lake. At the back of the town are thick woods, and
the square in front of the hotel is shaded by one giant
tree where a fountain splashes clear water into the
women's ollas. Even men carry water in two jars
balanced on the ends of long poles and none of them
leaves the fountain without a rest and a dish of gossip.
The air here is delicious. At first sight Patzcuaro im-
presses one as ugly, but take a ten minutes' walk to the
adjacent hill and you will change your opinion. Below
you lies the large and beautiful lake, with its island vil-
lages and the fishing-boats of the Indians. Beyond the
lake are the mountains; back of you the pine woods.
You look your fill and turn to go, and pause to look
again.
Patzcuaro is chiefly interesting for having been the
ancient capital of the Chichimecas, who are thought to
have come from the North about the year 1200, and
subdued the tribes that already occupied the shores and
islands of Lake Patzcuaro. Indian chroniclers attribute
the origin of the first people of Michoacan to a unique
incident. They claim that during the emigration of the
northern tribes, on reaching the lake of Patzcuaro, many
of the people stopped to bathe. The others, by advice
of their gods, who doubtless disapproved of the bathing
habit, surreptitiously gathered up their friends' clothing
and departed.
The ancient victims of this too-practical joke were so
infuriated, that they resolved to cut the acquaintance of
the rest of their tribe for good and all. They camped
on the spot, and so great was their hatred for the jokers,
they even changed their language. Whatever the be-
7
132 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
ginnings of this race, it was a large and powerful one,
second only to that of Mexico proper, at the coming of
the Spaniards.
It is noteworthy that the Indian king Migiiangage,
who had his seat at Patzcuaro, left no heirs for the
reason that his first son was killed by lightning, and his
others put to death by his own orders, in punishment for
their crimes.
The last king of Michoacan bore the nickname Caltzon-
tzi [Old Shoe], bestowed by the Aztecs in token of their
scorn for his cowardly surrender to the Spaniards,
This base monarch caused the murder of his brothers,
fearing in them rivals for the throne. His people and
the Aztecs were old enemies, and when the brave
Cuauhtemoc sent his ambassadors proposing they should
join forces against their common foe, he refused to con-
sider their offers, and had them put to death. It is
supposed he imagined the Spaniards would content
themselves with taking Mexico, and leave him undis-
turbed; but when Cortes sent his troops, under Mon-
tafio, he received them without resistance and went in
person to the capital to offer submission to the con-
queror. He continued king in name for a number of
years, but finally fell into the hands of the cruel Nufio de
Guzman, who, after robbing him of all his treasure,
had him burned alive.
The Michihuacanos believed in the immortality of the
soul and in the existence of God. They also worshiped
idols and practised human sacrifice. Michoacan means
" country of fishes." The name was bestowed by the
Aztecs. When the conquerors came, the Indian nobles
gave them their daughters, calling them tarascue which
means " sons-in-law." The Spaniards, hearing this
word constantly, corrupted it into Tarascos, and applied
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 133
it to the Indians themselves, who are still known by
this name.
Friday is market-day at Patzcuaro. Then the Indians
come from far and near with their wares, and the plaza
is crowded from sunrise. Among the things displayed
are fruits in great variety, delicious fish (a tiny one, the
size of a sardine, and a larger white one not unlike perch
in flavor), and ducks. There is an abundance of a
red earthenware, without ornament but apparently very
strong; also the curious capote, or Indian rain-coat,
woven from palm leaves. At this season every peon
carries or w^ears one, and as he is often a wild-looking
creature to start with, this shaggy, bristly covering com-
pletes the picture of a sure-enough Indian. The price
is fifty cents for a fine large one, and it is a tempta-
tion to carry one away, unwieldy as it is. The weaving,
which shows on the inside, is very close and firm, and
the cape is said to shed water like a duck's back. The
Indian may sell what he brought to market but he carries
another load home. Indeed, as one seldom sees one
of the genus pure and simple who is not toting a pack,
it is not hard to believe the statement that when he has
nothing to carry he loads up with ballast.
I left Patzcuaro early on market-day to see Tzin-
tzuntzan and the picture. With a good horse the ride
may be easily made in two hours. The road was
thronged with Indians on their way to market. There
wxre trains of burros laden with the red pottery, and
the driver always carried as much as one of the burros.
There were women, with great baskets of fruit, and
the inevitable youngsters slung on behind. If you look
close enough at an Indian woman's pack you are pretty
sure to see a small pair of bare feet projecting from the
midst of baskets and sacks. No wonder these young-
134 THE MAN WHO Ln<:ES MEXICO
sters grow up to have the endurance of pack-animals
themselves, jolted as they are from the day of their
arrival, over rough roads, rain or shine, always in the
fresh air, suckled in the open, with the ground for a
cradle. It means more than ordinarily, for an Indian
to say, " the mother that bore me." That mother never
locked him in to be burned alive by the explosion of a
kerosene lamp. When she got ready to sally forth, she
simply caught him up in her rebozo and tossed him on
her back. Then she trotted off about her business, a
mile or twenty, as it happened ; and he might sleep, wake,
coo or howl as he preferred, it was all the same to her.
I saw one man, mounted on a small burro, and carry-
ing a very young infant on his arm. One often sees a
brawny peon carrying a baby as tenderly as though he
loved it.
The strangest object was a very small article that a
young Indian had wrapped in his zarape. He was carry-
ing it as though it were an infant, but as he passed I
saw a shock of coarse, reddish hair and my curiosity
prompted me to call him back and ask what he had.
" Un marranito, seiior," he replied, opening the zarape,
and there sure enough, lay a baby pig sleeping as peace-
fully as a child. His nurse eyed him fondly, and I w^as
so surprised my genius for asking questions deserted me.
I shall never cease to wonder if that pig was intended
for sacrifice, or if he had been regularly adopted.
Tzintzuntzan is embowered in trees. The first glimpse
of the town is attractive, with the church tower just
showing over the tops of the olives. The houses and
streets are clean and the people decent and friendly in
their manner. It was a fiesta and the entire populace
seemed to be carrying decorations to the church, where
there was to be a procession in the afternoon. Women
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 135
and children were laden with plants and flowers, and
the men were carrying immense timbers to build a stag-
ing in the sacristy. The priest was a bright young Mex-
ican with a genial manner, and impressed me as a real
friend of the Indians. He had two schools under way.
He readily consented to my photographing the picture,
but the Indians looked on this with disfavor, and I was
closely attended and narrowly watched by two patriarchs
till my labors were ended. As to the painting, it is
superb and would repay a longer journey. Its interest
is enhanced by its quaint setting in this quaintest of old
pueblos.
Tzintzuntzan was the seat of an Indian king as early
as 1400. There are still extensive ruins ; among them
one that is said to mark the site of the palace of Cal-
tzontzi.
I went to make my adieu to the padre who was still
up to his eyes in business with his parishioners, and also
took leave of the old Indians who had kept an eye on
me to see that I did n't hoodoo the picture with my
mysterious box. They were now more cordial that they
found I was going, but quite disappointed because I
could not show them my photographs then and there.
They inquired where my home might be, and on my telling
them in '' los Estados Unidos," they asked if it was on
the other side of the water or where. They said they
had heard of my country which made me justly proud.
I told them that to reach theirs I traveled five days and
five nights. The time was nothing, but they repeated
over and over, " traveling, traveling, all the days and
nights on the machine."
As I left the town I took a snap-shot at the old tower,
looming amid the olive trees, which are said to have
sprung from shoots brought from the Mount of Olives.
136 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
What tales we hear in Mexico, as though the truth were
not quite romantic enough ! On reaching a crest that
commands a view of the lake and islands, I stopped to
use my field glasses. A group of home-bound natives
were resting there, and they began whispering and point-
ing to the glasses. No doubt they all saw farther with
the naked eye than I did with the lens, but for fun I let
them all have a peep. Out of seven, but two could see
at all. These were like children with a new toy, but I
soon found that the landscape had no charms for them.
The train was just pulling into the Patzcuaro station,
and again the maqniiia (locomotive) was the center of
interest.
Much of the road lies close to the lake where one gets
almost a sea breeze. Although the way was filled with
returning Indians, when I reached Patzcuaro the
plaza still presented a lively scene, and there was a
reception at the priests' college, with a brass band in
attendance.
Patzcuaro is full twenty-minutes' ride by street car
from the station ; whereas the station is but five minutes
ride from Patzcuaro ; fifteen minutes representing the
difference between mule power and gravity. You make
the ascent with much whip-cracking and yelling from
the driver, and wild scrambling on the part of the mules.
The return is much like a toboggan slide, and full as
exciting, if the tracks happen to be wet and the con-
ductor does n't understand the brakes very well.
The ride on the train to Uruapan is delightful. With
the descent, the landscape takes on a more tropical look,
and the air becomes deliciously soft and balmy ; but al-
ways with a spring-like freshness. One of the loveliest
lakes I ever saw lies quite near the line of the railroad.
Absolutely still, without a fleck except where the water
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 139
fowl light, it mirrors the trees, the mountains and the
sky.
Not only had Uruapan's fame for beauty preceded it,
but I heard from a Mexican gentleman on the train a
detailed account of the shooting and slashing affair
held a few days since by the robbers and gendarmes, at
the house of the former. Dancing was on the cards and
though the gendarmes, who were self-invited guests, went
at an unfashionably late hour, their hosts received them
with open arms, i. e., knives and pistols. One gendarme
succumbed to a bullet, another to a blow from a machete.
A third received wounds from which he died the next
day. At this juncture more guests arrived in the persons
of the Jefe Politico and the soldiers. One robber was
taken. The others escaped to the mountains, where two
were captured and shot. In the meantime the first pris-
oner had been executed close by the cemetery to save a
funeral procession. It was also rumored that a female
robber who had been aiding and abetting her admirers
was sent to keep him company. The small local sheet,
El Amigo del Pueblo, touched lightly on the aft'air, and
pleaded lack of time and space to go into details regard-
ing six more bandits whose obsequies would take place
the following day. This was all discussed in the town
" under the rose," but to the casual observer Uruapan's
serenity remained unruffled. There were plenty of
swarthy barefooted soldiers lounging about the citartel;
the town was patrolled day and night by uniformed (and
barefoot) gendarmes, and occasionally a body of rurales
rode through on their splendid horses. Clearly the Jefe
Politico was a man of nerve and action, and meant to
make Uruapan and its surroundings as secure for resi-
dents and visitors, as other parts of the republic.
When we reached Uruapan it had been raining. We
I40 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
boarded the stage which was drawn by a spike-team of
mules ; but the roads were heavy and the " point of the
spike " refused to be driven, turning around and trying to
chnib on the front seat where I sat with the driver. The
latter, who was yelling " like a wild Indian," gave me the
reins at this juncture and got off to straighten out things.
He took the obstreperous leader by the head and yelled : I
pounded the wheelers on the back and yelled as near like
him as possible: there was a plunge, a lurch, and we
were off; the driver regaining his seat by a sort of
handspring, and continuing to emit yells at the rate of a
new one a second, till we landed at the hotel.
It was a new hotel of two stories, with large, clean,
airy rooms, tile floors and iron bedsteads. Prices were
fifty cents daily for all except rooms on the street which
were one dollar. The restaurant was separate, the pro-
prietor himself superintending the cooking. The serv-
ice was good and cost a dollar a day.
Uruapan is built on the hillside, and commands an ex-
tended view of the valley and the mountains beyond.
The surrounding roads are good and so are the saddle
horses. At the time I arrived, Uruapan was having a
boom and did n't know whether to be glad or sorry ; nor
what to do with it. A boom is a thing that strikes a town
like a cyclone, only worse ; for while your cyclone does a
neat job, removing the town carefully and effectually, the
boom simply whisks it up in the air, toys with it a while,
and then lets it down so hard that it takes the rest of its
natural life to get its breath again, Uruapan's boom I
rejoice to say was not of this dangerous character. It
was a mild, indolent, manana boom, tempered by siestas
and church festivals. The climate undoubtedly had some-
thing to do with keeping it from becoming unmanage-
able. It is true new houses were being built and many
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 141
old ones repaired ; but in the time of rains one can't be
expected to carry adobes and work in the rain. Again if
the sun shines, just as Hkely as not it is some one's dia
santo, and there you are again. Seeing some workmen
loitering in quite a pretentious building evidently about
half-completed, I asked them when it would be finished.
Pues quien sabe! It had already been six years un-
derway, and it would take at least three more. The
seiior must realize that it is a question of much time to
build so big a house.
In this way Uruapan's boom was progressing in a slow
and dignified manner, without any fuss.
Another thing Uruapan had not fully made up its
mind about was the railroad, wdiich caused the boom
and was erecting substantial passenger and freight depots
of gray stone. Of course the maquina lands one at the
capital inside of twenty-four hours. But one could al-
ways go on a horse in nine days. The road was quite
good, when it was not raining, with only occasional
bandidos, which gave opportunity for a little pistol prac-
tice. True rents were higher and for that matter every-
thing brought a better price than formerly. Tourists
come with the maquina and their money is good money.
All the same, things were very well as they were ; and if
the railroad had actually arrived, it was no fault of Urua-
pan's.
This was all perfectly natural ; and while, were it not
for the railroad, I should not have been there, I could
sympathize with Uruapan. When we have lived for
three centuries and some odd scores of years, conserving
the customs and traditions of our fathers, leading a quiet,
peaceful existence, undisturbed except by an occasional
revolution, conducting our afifairs, public and private, not
as the outside world would have us perhaps, but as we
142 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
ourselves approve and prefer, is it strange if -we regard
with apprehension mixed with distrust the approach of
that strange, unrestful thing called " progress," which
comes with the maquina of the foreigner and is spelled
with a capital " P " ?
I was glad that I reached Uruapan before the moss of
three centuries had been seriously disturbed. The rail-
road took me there, and then, owing to a timely wash-
out, the trains stopped running. Uruapan, once more
isolated, began spelling " progress " with a small " p."
The whistle of the maquina no longer disturbed our
morning slumber. I imagined that I detected a covert
look of satisfaction on the faces of the dons, as we as-
sembled leisurely at the post-office to await the arrival of
the mail, which came on horseback. Truly it was like
old times ! It gave one time to look about a bit and talk
with one's friends. Then too, there was always the
subject of the mail to fall back on. There is a delightful
sense of chance, of uncertainty about a horse which a
maquina has no part in. Will the mail arrive this morn-
ing, this afternoon, or not at all? Of course if the mail
mozo be on good terms with his sweetheart, who lives in
the next village, the chances are that he will dally, and
hence the mail will be quite late. If they have quarreled,
his horse will be the sufferer, and I shall have my letters
before noon. I am therefore divided between a friendly
interest in the good fortune of the mail mozo, and the
desire to have my letters. When I receive them, twenty
steps will take me to a comfortable bench in the garden
in front of the church, which is full of roses, and shaded
by magnificent ash trees, whose moss-covered trunks
and great size proclaim their age. The old church, whose
front is a dull terra-cotta, has also its garniture of
emerald moss on its cornices and moldings, God and
The road to Uruapan
lalls of Tzardracua, Uruapan
THE MAN WHO LIKES ^lEXICO 145
the Bishop forbid that church ever being scraped or
renovated !
The churches in Uruapan are much plainer than any in
Mexico and suggest in their simpHcity the CaHfornia
missions. The building is interesting, as in all parts of
the country, and seems entirely an outgrowth from nat-
ural conditions. The main building material is adobe.
The roofs are usually tile, and project far over the side-
walks, thus keeping them dry and affording shelter from
both sun and rain. Bridges and gates are invariably
covered by a picturesque shake roof, which shelters the
pedestrian and preserves the structure. The rainy sea-
son is not a matter of a daily downpour of a few hours,
with sunshine before and after, but often means a steady,
soaking rain all day and all night. The town has two
plazas, separated by a large building surrounded by
portales. In the first there is a fountain with bushes that
suggest lilacs, only their blooms are a bright pink. This
plaza is filled with stalls of the Indians selling every-
thing from fruit and sweets to shoes and clothing, while
in the second are the band stand and more stalls. An-
other building with portales follows and then comes the
really beautiful garden, with a monument to the heroes
of the war of the empire. This arrangement of parks,
in the center of the town, is very pleasing and shows that
the founders had an eye for beauty.
Uruapan's lasting fame is built on its coffee plantations.
You may ride in any direction, and pass miles of vigorous
coffee plants interspersed with and overshadowed by
banana palms. ]\Iany of the plants are loaded with the
delicate white blossoms, whose faint aroma approaches
white lilac, while others have the berry in every stage
of development. Each berry has two kernels, with
the exception of the highly prized Caracolillo, whose
146 THE ^lAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
single kernel is supposed to possess the concentrated
essence of two of the others. Trees bear at the age of
four years. A skilful hand can pick from five to six
arrobas (25 lbs. each) in a day, and earns six reales
(seventy-five cents). The berries must be gathered w^ith
great care not to break the tiny stem about a quarter of
an inch long, which immediately forms another bud. In
addition to bananas, pineapples, oranges, lemons, mangos,
and aguacates, I also saw the morera tree whose leaves
are quite large, fine in texture, and with a sheen that
gives them the actual appearance of crinkled silk ; so that
they seem intended by nature for the ultimate end, which
is achieved with the aid of the silkworm.
What is there to do in Uruapan, do you ask? In the
morning there are the baths, with one large tank of crys-
tal-clear water, where the sunshine streams in through
the dilapidated roof, and innumerable small rooms, spot-
lessly clean, with whole roofs, and with showers of hot
and cold water. If you go in the tank, however, you will
be in fine shape for a horseback ride. The acknowledged
tariff is cuatro reales (or fifty cents), for a good animal
for half a day.
The beautiful Cupatitzio River is Uruapan's pride, and
several roads lead to it with always a charming view of
foaming waters and cascades. The falls of Tzararacua
are very beautiful and well worth the hour and a half
ride, which at the last is through the pine woods, and
down a wild and picturesque canon. The water makes a
sheer descent of at least a hundred and fifty feet, ending
in a large pool in the bottom of the canon. In spite of
the beauty of the falls and the vegetation, there is some-
thing rather terrible in the deep and solitary ravine, and
the tremendous roar of the water, especially if one be
alone. I was wondering if any unfortunate had ever
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 147
gone over the brink, when an Indian suddenly appeared
from nowhere, and seemed as much surprised to see me
as I was to see him. I asked him if any one had ever
gone over and he said yes, that a woman had ; and that
he found her body in that very spot. She was bathing
far up the river and was swept under by the current.
He was looking for stray cattle and coming into the
canon found the poor thing on the edge of the pool. He
expressed his surprise at my going there alone and said
at this season the place was sad ; but that after the rains,
it would be the scene of much festivity, the Indians going
there on Sundays to pass the day in feasting and dancing,
and returning home decked with flowers and garlands.
I had a funny experience in connection with the tariff
on saddle horses. The adininistrador mentioned the price,
as fifty cents for half a day, on my arrival, and sent at my
request for a man who rented horses. I asked this worthy
what he would let me have a horse every morning for and
he said seventy-five cents. Of course this was cheap, but
at the same time I did n't like the idea of his raising the
price simply because I was an American. I told him so,
and he immediately dropped to fifty cents, but looked as
though he meant to get even. The next morning he sent
me a white rack-a-bones, with a hip knocked down, and
his ribs projecting like barrel hoops. I returned him
with some doubt as to his getting back to the pension,
and the gentleman I was going out w^ith sent for one of
his own horses. The next day I interviewed a new man.
He had a good horse but the price was seventy-five cents.
I made further inquiries of disinterested individuals, and
they agreed that there were saddle horses to burn at fifty,
but evidently not for me ! Every horse owner I asked
said seventy-five. It was evident the owner of the white
horse was boycotting me, and I determined not to be
148 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
boycotted. I heard of an ancient Mexican on the out-
skirts of the town who had good horses, and went to see
him. He had evidently not been tampered with. He
said the price was fifty cents and that he would get a
horse in from his rancho for me. The next morning I
paraded a spirited little pacer, in all the bravery of
the old man's embroidered saddle and silver bit, before
the face of my horsey friend. I was still chuckling
when the mozo came the next morning with the horse,
and a message from the old man, that he should have to
charge me seis realcs, each time. I sent word that I
should keep to my agreement. I put the horse through
that morning, thinking it might be my last ride with him,
and fell so in love with him I almost felt like weakening;
but I thought of the white-horse man, and determined
to resort to that faithful if plodding steed known as
" Shank's mare, " before he should have the laugh on
me. I was in the midst of dinner when there was a
knock, and the old Mexican entered, in silver-trimmed
charro suit, big hat, clanking spurs and a sword. Scis
reales was written all over the wily old countenance. I
whispered ciiatro to myself and gave him a chair. I also
gave him a drink, a piiro and a cup of cofifee. I showed
him my spurs, my pistol, my watch, some photographs
and my lemonade-shaker. I got him to tell me about
his trip to Mexico and his fight with the bandits. Then
I gave him another puro. When at last he tore himself
away I handed him cuatro and asked him what the mozo
meant by talking about seis. He professed profound
ignorance and said there would never be any question of
money between him and me. He had a flyer brought
from his rancho that made the first pony fade into in-
signifiance ; and he dropped in every day for cofifee and
a chat with his " hncn aniigo el Americano."
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 149
Uruapan was founded in 1533 by the good Fray Juan
de San ]\Iiguel, who seems to have been a second Las
Casas in his devotion to the Indians. Nothing is known
regarding his birthplace, nor when he came to New
Spain. He appeared in 1531 with another priest named
Antonio de Lisboa, among the Indians of Moreha, which
was then called Valle de Olid after the Spanish captain,
who took possession of Michoacan in the name of his
sovereign. The original name of the town was later
changed to Valladolid. These poor priests, barefooted
and in rags, with but five rcalcs between them, won the
confidence and love of the Indians and built a Christian
church. Fray Juan de San Miguel subsequently trav-
ersed the whole of Michoacan, collecting the frightened
Indians, converting them to Christianity, founding
pueblos and building churches. He established schools
in all of which music was taught, and the best voices were
selected for the service of the church. Uruapan is said
not only to occupy the loveliest spot in the valley, but in
the whole state. When the good padre saw the beautiful
river Cupatitzio with its abundance of clear cold water,
he recognized an ideal place for a town, and at once be-
gan apportioning lots of land to the people, laying out the
plazas and the streets, and dividing the town into barrios
or districts. After directing the building of houses for
the Indians and the planting of grain and fruit trees, he
began the erection of the church ; and later built the
hospital which is said to have been the second hospital
in the Americas. This was necessary for housing the
multitude of poor and infirm Indians who besieged him
for protection. Here they found a home and were pro-
vided with employment which made them in a measure
self-supporting. The statue of this devoted man still
adorns the front of the little chapel of La Purisimaj and
150 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
his portrait hangs in the sacristy of the ancient church.
His memory is held in love and reverence, not only in the
valley of Uruapan, but in all the state of Michoacan.
While in Uruapan, I read a book v^ritten in 1639 by
Fray Alonso de la Rea, who was evidently a cultured
man, and who wrote in a clear and concise manner. The
good padre says that in spite of conflicting opinions as
to the origin of the Tarasco Indians, he is satisfied they
were not the first settlers of Michoacan, but that they are
actually a branch of the Aztecs or Mexicans, who were
the last of the incoming northern tribes. He says the
ancients of the tribe claim that their people came with
eight other nations from a place called Chicomotztotl,
meaning " Seven Caves." (Modern historians refer to
this point, which is north of Zacatecas, merely as a rest-
ing-place on the line of march.) He was satisfied of
the main accuracy of their statement, from the existence
of a very old painting on cloth, which still existed in the
pueblo of Cucutacato, near Uruapan. This depicted the
departure of nine tribes from seven caves, and their sub-
sequent journeyings. The padre again refers to Seven
Caves as being in the country called by the Indians
" Aztlan. " (The best authorities are now agreed that
Aztlan was in California.)
The Tarascos, who were then an offshoot from the
nine tribes but principally from the Asteca, founded
Tzintzuntzan, which comes from Tzintzuni, meaning lit-
tle bird with green plumage, that sips the honey of flowers
(hummingbird). Another name for the same bird was
Huitzilin, from which came Huitzilopochtli, the title of
the Mexican war-god. The birth of the god Huitzilo-
pochtli typified the immaculate conception of the Indians.
His mother Coatlicue, the goddess with the skirt of
serpents, was sweeping.the temple on the hill of Coatepec,
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 151
when she saw rolhng towards her a coil of feathers. She
caught it up and placed it beneath her waistband. She
immediately became pregnant, and in due time, being still
a virgin, bore Huitzilopochtli, who came into the world
with a shield in his left hand, while his right clasped a
dart or arrow of a blue color. His face was terrible
from the first, showing his fierce nature. On his brow
was a tuft of the bright green feathers of the humming-
bird. The Indians said his name was also partly de-
rived from Tlahuipochi, " he who vomits fire," and the
god was depicted as being engaged in this pleasant occu-
pation. In this tradition originated the manufacture of
the famous green feather work for which these Indians
were noted, " and thus we see that the Tarascos were
led by this false god," says Fray Alonso.
Among the most admirable qualities of these people,
was their ingenuity, which was not confined to one or two
materials, but showed itself in all they did. " Thus their
works are known and applauded throughout the world."
They were particularly successful as sculptors, and
so skilful in painting that all the churches of this province
are adorned by hangings and pictures made by these same
Indians ; " with such beauty of color, that we need not
envy even the brush of Rome ! " They were the in-
ventors of foundry-work, and before the conquest made
sundry small castings which they bartered with the other
nations in trade. Under the guidance of master work-
men, who came with the frailes, they became wonder-
fully efficient in making bells, trumpets and sackbuts.
(The clock bells in the church at Uruapan are literally
" silvered-toned. ") Among the articles of feather-work
were pictures, images, shields, tapestries, miters and
robes. The Periban painting (on wood) was invented
here. It is not only beautiful, but so lasting as to be
152 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
hardly affected by time; seeming to become part of the
wood itself and lasting while the wood lasts. The process
consists in applying first a coat of varnish, and rubbing it
dry. The pattern or drawing is then pricked into the
wood with a graver, and the colors laid on and rubbed
with the palm of the hand, until a gloss equal to the
finest lacquer is obtained. The articles made are writing
desks, boxes, trunks, tecomatcs, vases, trays, bowls and
jars. This craft seems to have deteriorated, at least as
to variety. The Indians still make a number of small
articles that are very attractive.
The Tarascos are also famous for their life-like sculp-
tures of the body of Christ, which are prized throughout
Europe. It is true, they had their first examples of the
effigy in those brought by the priests ; but they are the
inventors of a remarkable paste which lends itself won-
derfully to the work. To make this they cut the young
corn stalks and extract the heart, which they grind into
a pulp or paste called tatzingueni, from which they make
the famous Christos de Michoacan. These images are
not only beautifully proportioned, but so light that while
many are six feet high, they weigh no more than if made
of feathers. In addition to all these achievements,
they have also made organs entirely of wood, and pos-
sessed of most beautiful tone.
The Tarascos were and are still serious and thorough in
all that pertains to their religion. Among their ancient
ceremonies, the burial of their kings is noteworthy.
When a monarch realized that his end was at hand, he
appointed his eldest son his successor, and began to in-
struct him in all that pertained to his office. The new
king then summoned all the nobles to assist in the last
sad rites. The one who failed to appear was considered
a traitor to the crown. Each was expected to condole
A Taiascu tursia
Los gallos (cock-fight)
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 155
with the dying monarch and to bring some rich gift. At
the last moment all were denied entrance to the death
chamber, unless some one proclaimed himself able to
avert the fatal stroke. When all was over, every one
was admitted and the lamentations began, followed by
the pomps and ceremonials of the interment.
The body was first bathed and then clothed in a long
robe, and the sandals (emblem of valor) were attached to
the feet. The ankles had golden bells and the wrists,
strings of turquoise. The headdress was of plumes with
rich embroidery and jewels. There were splendid collars
and necklaces, ear-rings, bracelets and an emerald pend-
ant for the lower lip called tcutitl. The body was
placed on a bier and covered with a mantle, on which
was painted a portrait of the dead king with all his
adornments. The women were then admitted to wail and
mourn over their departed lord.
The next step is to designate the men and women who
are to serve him in the next world, and must suffer death
to accompany him. These are named by his successor,
who first selects seven women whose offices are as fol-
lows: one to bear the hezotcs (lip-rings) used by the
king, which are of inestimable value ; one for jewel-
keeper; one cup-bearer; one aguamanos (hand washer) ;
a cook, and two servants. The men form a much larger
company including one each of the following named:
keeper of the wardrobe ; hair-comber ; hair-brusher ;
wreath-maker; chair-bearer; wood-chopper; mosqueador
(fly-killer); fire-blower; shoe-maker; perfume-bearer;
oarsman ; boatman ; sweeper ; white-washer ; king's por-
ter ; porter for the women ; feather-worker ; silver-smith ;
bow and arrow maker ; tavern-keeper ; buffoon or jester ;
("that el infierno may not lack in jollity!" adds the
padre). There were also hunters and several doctors,
156 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
among them those who had failed to cure the king in his
last illness. Then came the musicians and a host of
volunteers, who, if worthy people, were not allowed to
carry out their design of self-sacrifice.
The funeral procession left the palace at midnight,
preceded first by people weeping and cleaning the way
and then by the victims, whose heads were adorned with
wreaths and their bodies painted bright yellow. Next
came the musicians with clarinets, trumpets and drums
of tortoise shell. The bier was borne on the shoulders
of the sons and chief nobles, and accompanied by many
torch-bearers, all chanting as they went the glories of the
departed, together with the praises of his successor.
On reaching the temple enclosure, they circled four
times the huge funeral pyre, and then placed the body
on the summit, still chanting as they set it on fire. Then
while it was burning, they caught and killed the aforesaid
servants who were to attend their master, beating them
over the heads with heavy clubs. These wretches had
been previously stupefied with drink, that they might not
resist. Their bodies were cast, two and two, into im-
mense jars. This slaughter lasted till daybreak, when the
ashes of the king were enveloped in the mantle which
had covered the body, together with the melted jewels and
ornaments, and carried to the entrance of the temple.
Over the remains were placed a mask of turquoise, a
golden shield, and bow and arrows. A large tomb was
opened in the stairway of the temple. A noble then took
the ashes of his sovereign in his arms, and, entering the
tomb placed them upon a bed richly ornamented with
gold and silver. A huge olla was then introduced in
the shape of a man. The remains were placed in it, and
the olla sealed and left with its face turned to the east,
after being wrapped in mantles. The urns containing
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 157
the servants' bodies followed, with articles for domestic
service, plumes, costumes for feasts and many jewels.
The tomb was then closed and sealed. All who had
touched the bodies bathed carefully to avoid a pest and
the company returned to the palace. There they were
seated in chairs richly carved, and feasted elaborately. A
handkerchief was then given to each, and they were ex-
pected to remain for five days, seated in the court, with
bowed heads and funereal aspect, without uttering a
word to any one. During these five days no corn was
ground, nor fire lighted. Later they retired to their
homes to continue fasting and praying for the repose of
the monarch's soul ; and the nobles went every night to the
temple to renew their lamentations at the tomb.
These wearisome and long-drawn-out, not to say hor-
rible, rites must have been purgatory on earth for all
concerned ; and doubtless before they were ended the
new king almost wished the old one had n't died. The
Tarascos, who are everywhere in evidence in this land,
are said to be as formal and punctilious in all observances
of their present religion, as they were in the old, and
serious at all times. Their ancient splendor has vanished
and one almost wonders if such things have really been.
They still hold the quaintest fiestas in the different barrios,
where the music, decorations and customs are tmique
and half barbaric ; but in all their feasting, drinking and
dancing they preserve absolute, unmoved solemnity.
CHAPTER VI
Return to Mexico : Mexicans True Friends : Queretaro the
Beautiful: The Works of Tres Guerras : The Aqueduct: A
Visit to the Hill of The Bells: The Country Remained at
Peace: Guadalajara the Pearl of the West : The City's Even-
ing Life: In Beauty's Ranks: The Charro Horseman:
Things that are Different : Social Customs : An Inquisitive
Shopkeeper.
URUAPAN'S boom never came to life again dur-
ing my stay of four weeks. This was due to
the heavy and continuous rains and to repeated
washouts on the railroad, which prevented the running of
trains, without which no booin can survive. Despite
the daily downpour, the mornings were usually fine, and
I seldom missed an early ride, often returning as fast
as my horse could run in a warm, drenching rain. The
storms are sudden and violent, and while Uruapan has'
a temperate and quite ideal climate, it is situated on the
edge of the hot country, which it in some ways resembles.
I began to long for Mexico City, and feeling rested
and refreshed by the balmy air and constant out-of-door
exercise, and with nerves relaxed by the lower altitude
(Uruapan's altitude is but 5,500 feet) I resolved to re-
turn to Mexico. I had heard that the road-bed was be-
ing repaired, but as rumors were vague as to when the
trains would go through, I engaged a mozo, with saddle
and pack-animals, to convoy me in the direction of the
capital, with the agreement that he should not desert ine
until he saw me on board a railway train. This gave
158
THE MAN WHO LIKES ^lEXICO i6i
me an opportunity to see the rich coffee plantations,
through which we were riding all day. Fortunately for me
the rains held off', and I enjoyed the journey, which was
marred by but one accident. The mule that was carry-
ing my trunk got mired in a mud-hole and sank rapidly
until only her head and the top of my trunk were visible.
The mozo jumped off his horse and leaped in after her
and I feared both would be lost. But at that moment a
number of pack mules came in sight, from the opposite
direction, and the two Indians who were in charge of
them jumped off their horses and- into the mud-hole to
help my mozo. It was a funny sight but for them doubt-
less a common occurrence. With grunts, whistles and
cheerful ejaculations, among which was the familiar
" Andale! " they half-shoved, half-lifted the mule out of
the mud-hole. A more good-natured bit of " lend-a-
hand " work I never saw, and while I gave them money,
it seemed a poor return for their prompt and friendly
aid. The best of all, though, were the compliments ex-
changed between them and my mozo on parting, when
they gravely lifted their hats to each other.
Shortly after sundown we arrived at the railway junc-
tion of Acambaro, where I found the road intact, and
where I shared the kind hospitality of the American
foreman who was living in a box-car, and who made me
welcome to supper and a bed. The following morning
I got a train for Mexico City, arriving there late that
night.
I now began to appreciate the pleasures of friendship
with the Mexicans. Don Juan, my other fellow-
boarders, and my hostess received me so kindly as to
make my return seem a veritable home-coming. They
plied me with questions about the cities I had visited,
and I then observed what always impressed me while in
i62 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
Mexico, namely the manifest pleasure of the Mexicans
in the enjoyment of visitors to their country. After
several weeks at the pleasant house in Calle San Agustin,
which I soon came to regard as home, and which I made
my headquarters throughout my stay in the country, I
decided to go on another journey. My friends now ad-
vised me to visit Queretaro, the capital of the state of the
same name, famed for its fine churches, and Guadalajara,
capital of the state of Jalisco, which for its many charms
is often called " Pearl of the Occident." Don Juan,
whose vacations were near, invited me to visit him at
his home, which was in Lagos, a city I must pass through
in going north. This was my first invitation to visit the
home of a friend, and I accepted it with pleased antici-
pation. We accordingly agreed that after a month spent
in visiting Queretaro, Guadalajara and Guanajuato,
which the Howards had told me was the quaintest, most
picturesque city in Mexico, I should proceed to the city
of Lagos, where Don Juan would meet me at the station.
And such was my trust in Don Juan's loyalty I had
no more doubt that I should find him there at the ap-
pointed time than that I should be there myself.
Don Juan further showed his interest in my travels
by accompanying me to the train, which left for
Queretaro at nine a. m. The custom of seeing friends
off in Mexico is immutable. The time has been when a
Mexican friend would rise before daylight to accompany
me to the train and I knew protestation would be vain.
It is customary between friends. It would have been
the same to Don Juan had the Queretaro train left at
midday or at midnight. With a hearty hug, which I
now participated in as naturally as hand-shaking, we
said " Adios ! " and " Hasta luego ! " which means " Until
soon! " and I was once more en camino (en route).
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 163
We reached Oueretaro in the middle of the afternoon.
I was tempted to beheve that the cargador who hailed
me, saying, "Here I am, my chief!" had run all the
way from Mexico he looked so natural. I have heard
strange tales of these Indians traveling across lots and
beating railway trains. He held up his badge to show
me his number, assuring me I could trust him, so I
handed my traps through the window. A street car ran
from the station to the center of the city and on reaching
the terminus, the driver, who was Indio legitimo, wound
the reins round the brake and politely escorted me to
my hotel. Centavos are but slight return for such cour-
tesies as these.
It was at the hotel, however, that I discovered my
star was really in the ascendant. I had long heard of
Doctor S as a charming and cultured man who,
after traveling the world over, had settled on Queretaro
for a home. I thought I might venture to introduce my-
self on the strength of our having a mutual friend ; but
resolved to be most discreet. Foreign residents, in good
standing in Mexico, do not as a rule suffer from any
lack of visitors. Judge of my amazement then when
the doctor, after regarding me searchingly for a moment,
asked, " Are you the man who likes Mexico ? " I put
on a bold front and answered, " At your service." Then
I cast a surreptitious glance over my shoulder half ex-
pecting to see a gendarme at the door. What had I
ever said about doctors ? But the doctor did n't turn
me over to the authorities. He took me under his be-
nevolent wing then and there. As a result I had an
opportunity to view the art treasures of this ancient
city, as only one with a friend at court can do, and to
hear the world-reminiscences of a most interesting man.
Our first visit was to the Governor's palace. The
i64 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
doctor said he had business at the palace, asking with an
apology if I would mind waiting for him a few minutes.
He led the way into the reception sala and called my
attention to the magnificent chairs and tables of solid
mahogany, beautifully carved, and the great mirrors in
their superb gold frames. Then a gentleman appeared
in the door at the end of the sala and bowed. The
doctor arose and asked me to accompany him. We
passed into an adjoining room and I found myself in
the presence of the Governor of Queretaro. Had I
realized the honor before me I should have been a bit
nervous and tried to think what I should say. My
anxiety would have been needless, however, for no vis-
itor could be ill at ease with Governor Cosio. Like
many distinguished men, he possessed the courtesy and
kindliness that are reassuring and delightful to strangers.
He at once addressed us in English and paid us the com-
pliment of speaking English throughout our visit. He
was a very handsome man in the prime of life, elegant,
dignified, yet singularly unassuming. I shall remember
our visit as a most delightful experience.
We afterwards saw the palace. The museum, which
occupies one of the smaller salas, is an impressive and
significant exhibit. There are the relics recalling the
tragic end of a dream-empire, and the sad fate of Maxi-
milian, Miramon, Mejia and Mendez. One of the most
interesting objects is the rusty lock, through whose key-
hole the famous Corregidora (chief magistrate's wife)
Doha Josefa Ortiz de Dominguez, a prisoner in her own
house by order of her husband, sent a whispered message
to Hidalgo that his plans were discovered, thereby pre-
cipitating the grito (cry) of independence and the revo-
lution. A portrait of this noble dame shows a strong
commanding face, suggesting the patrician, but above
Two views of the patio in the federal palace, Queretaro
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 167
all the fearless, patriotic spirit, ready to do and dare all
for her beloved country.
Queretaro's churches are superb. They are quite dif-
ferent from those of Mexico, Puebla and Morelia. It
was here that Tres Guerras lavished the wealth of his
wonderful genius. One need not be an artist to be af-
fected by this man's work. The church of Santa Rosa,
with its lovely tower and dome and quaint flying-but-
tresses, all distinctly Oriental, is startlingly beautiful.
Much of the interior is by Tres Guerras' own hand.
The main altar has been destroyed, but the side altars
with their magnificent gold and green ornamentation
are still left. The paintings are Tres Guerras' : the ex-
quisite crucifix is his : and all are perfect. The end of
the sacristry is filled by a large canvas showing the old
convent garden, with the nuns at their duties among the
flowers. From the church, where we had been received
kindly by the good padre, a gentle and courteous man,
we wandered into the old convent gardens and through
the orchard, under drooping boughs and trailing vines.
On every side towered masses of solid masonry. The
convent is now used as a hospital but it is so extensive
that a large portion of it is necessarily unoccupied.
I have written of Santa Rosa because it is the crown-
ing glory of Oueretaro. Every one will tell you that.
Even the Indian of whom you ask the name of another
church will inquire anxiously if you have seen Santa
Rosa. Another splendid building is the old convent of
the Augustines, now the Federal Palace. It has the
finest patio I have seen, with a lovely old fountain and
corridors of the rose-colored Queretaro stone, magnifi-
cently carved. The gorgeous tower of the church, seen
from the patio, never finished yet grand in its incom-
pleteness, adds the sadly poetic note common to Mexico's
i68 TPIE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
ancient edifices. Santa Clara, San Felipe, Santo Do-
mingo and many others are also very imposing. I know
little about building but revere it above all the other arts,
and realize dimly its influence on humanity. Not all
pictures nor all music are for all people; but buildings
are. I felt this as never before w^hen the Indian in-
quired so anxiously, "Have you seen Santa Rosa?"
Another example of wonderful building is the great
aqueduct which brings an abundance of crystal-clear
water to Queretaro. First you must see it by day.
Note its seventy-two arches, the center one more than
sixty feet in the clear and its great length of over six
hundred meters. Then go again at moonrise. The
arches cast their long shadows across the quiet valley
and the ruined hacienda lies white and silent in the
moonlight. Aqueducts lend a certain stateliness to a
city, like that given a mansion by a long approach be-
tween rows of trees. They are monuments to courage,
skill and untiring labor and they confer on the city to
which they pay tribute, all the dignity that these terms
convey.
Queretaro owes her aqueduct to her noble benefactor,
the Marques de la Villa del Villar del Aguila, who gave
$88,000 from his private purse. The total cost of con-
struction was something over $131,000. It was begun in
1726 and completed nine years later. In the Plaza de la
Independencia there is a fine statue of the Marques by
Diego Alamaras Guillen. It is beautifully carved from
native stone and its noble proportions and life-like pose
mark the sculptor a man of genius. The pedestal rises
from a fountain basin, begun in 1843. The original
statue was destroyed by a cannon ball during the siege
of '67.
The lineal descendants of the last marques and the
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 169
direct heir to the title is Dr. Jose Fernandez de Jauregui,
a resident of Oueretaro, whom I had the pleasure of
meeting. Among the heirlooms in Dr. Jauregui's pos-
session are the gorgeous costumes worn by his ancestors,
the marques and his lady. They are more than a cen-
tury and a half old, yet the gloss of the velvet, the sheen
of the satin are undimmed by time. There is a won-
derful gown of emerald green velvet heavily embroidered
in gold, with a little shoulder cape brilliant with cut
stones and embroidery. There is a dress of apricot
satin, wrought with silver and one fancies the rich beauty
of the marquesa at its best in this setting. The marques
was just as resplendent in velvet and brilliants and gold
embroidery with a silken montcra (net) to hold his
long tresses which have left their mark on the coat-
collars. By favor of Carlos V the family were allowed
to employ the royal coat-of-arms in their decorations;
and in the collection are a dozen or more medallions of
silk and gold, which were used on the backs of chairs
and divans. There are also some black pearl ornaments
which are priceless.
I like Queretaro. It is not only charming and pic-
turesque but spotlessly clean. The air at this elevation,
somewhat over six thousand feet, is mildly invigorating.
I had always supposed the city's fame rested on its
churches and its historic interest. In future I shall
never tire of praising its perfect climate and its de-
licious waters. The baths of Patche in the suburbs are
medicinal and peculiarly efficacious in rheumatism. The
favorite bathing resort, however, is the beautiful Cafiada,
forty-minutes' ride by street car from the center of the
city. I wish I might write more at length of Queretaro,
of its hospital, orphanage, and schools, especially the fine
state college, with observatory and museum attached.
170 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
The young people have every educational advantage and
among them are many brilliant musicians. That night
we heard in rehearsal the " Pilgrim's Chorus " from
" Tannhauser," by a full orchestra, accompanied by
pianos and organ played by four fair young Queretanas.
We were in the beautiful Plaza de la Independencia.
The place was flooded with moonlight ; the fountain was
splashing softly; and on the still night air came the
glorious strains of Wagner.
The second evening we climbed el Cerro de las Cam-
panas (Hill of the Bells) to watch the sun go down and
see the mountain shadows fall upon the city. Austria's
emperor was erecting a little chapel there in memory of
his brother Maximilian, and the Generals Miramon and
Mejia. The place was freighted with tragic memories;
but the quiet beauty of the scene and the contented hum
of voices (the hill was covered with people) made wars
and unhappiness seem dim and far-off.
Slowly the sun dropped back of the mountain, and then
came the ethereal blue twilight over the city. The peo-
ple were going home and we soon found ourselves quite
alone save for one Indian, who remained motionless,
looking intently across the valley, while a pet kid, that
evidently belonged to him, went frisking about, like a
dog, among the rocks. There is a strange interest at-
tached to these dark-hued sons of the soil that I can
never resist. What was he brooding over? we won-
dered. At last we asked him about his goat. It was
very gentle, he said; just like a little dog; it followed
him everywhere. He and his pet were born on the
same hacienda, but now they had left their old home
and come to work near the city, gathering hay for the
sefiores of Queretaro. Hours were too long on the
hacienda — often from two in the morning till eight at
|HH|^H^H^^^||^|
n
^^^^H
H
^^^H
1
H
1
H
J
jb^^S^^^Qj^^-:. ■
■i
The road to the hot country
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 173
night and only 18 cents a day. Now he had his Httle
house, with his wife and one nino (baby) and his goat;
he sometimes earned fifty cents a day, " and," he added,
" one can rest a httle." At present he and the goat were
out for a walk. He had a bright face and seemed to
enjoy telling his little history. As we said, " hasta
luego," we asked him casually regarding the chapel.
It was for three generals he said, who were killed at the
siege. One was Miramon, the other ]\Iejia, and the
other — quien sabe, he was a foreign general who came
" walking " in the revolution. We pressed him in vain
for the name. No, he could not remember. " He was
a stranger — who knows his name ? " " But," he added
solemnly, " when they were shot, the country remained
at peace." Then he said, " May you go well ! " and
with a bound was off in the darkness followed by the
goat.
After a pleasant week spent in seeing Queretaro I took
leave of my new friends and went on to Irapuato, where
I changed cars for Guadalajara which I reached in the
early evening. Guadalajara is simpatica. What a de-
lightful word that is! It expresses much in little as no
other word can. It is essentially Latin. We northern
peoples think it but seldom say it. In fact we have n't
just the right word for it. We say a city is beautiful
but that does n't mean the same ; a climate is delightful
but that isn't it; a person charming, fascinating, mag-
netic, and even then we haven't said the equivalent of
simpatica. To my mind the nearest thing to it in Eng-
lish is, " I like." In Mexico if we like a place and its
people we say they are simpaticos and that tells the story.
I had always heard this of Guadalajara. At the last,
some of my friends in Mexico, whose homes are there,
began to caution me. " Don't expect too much," they
174 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
said, " you may be disappointed." But I had a feeling
I should not be disappointed. Do we find what we look
for I wonder ! Not always ! But the chances are
largely in our favor. If we look on things in a friendly
way we get the " glad eye " in return ; but a supercilious
stare is apt to encounter el ojo de vidrio (glassy eye).
The first thing that impressed me was a homelike
feeling. I was not unprepared for this for my friends
had said, " You will see when you are there — the
zaguan doors open till late at night, the patios filled with
flowers and electric light, the sehoritas promenading in
the plaza and much music everywhere." It was just as
they said. The air, though rather warmer than in Mex-
ico, was fresh and pure. It had rained in the night and
the day was like a northern day after a shower.
The Plaza de Armas is very like that of Mexico in
its surroundings. At the north is the Cathedral with
its pointed, oriental-looking towers ; the Governor's
Palace, a beautiful edifice, is on the east, and at the south
and west are portales as in Mexico. The garden is
crowded with palms and flowering shrubs and the walks
and benches are shaded by orange trees heavy with fruit.
On Sunday morning a fine military band was playing
and the seats were comfortably filled. With the flower-
scented air and the golden fruit overhead I found myself
quite astray as to the time of year. I could not get
used to summer atmosphere when it should be fall.
While October and November are delightful months in
the north, they are always attended by the realization
that their beauty is not for long : the decay of the year
is always sad, and while the spring awakening more
than atones, we know there is another autumn coming.
The feeling that Mexico's delightful weather is going
on and on gets us into easy ways perhaps, but I like it.
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 175
I looked in vain for the promenaders on the plaza
Sunday morning. Then I went and explored the por-
tales. The west portales were thronged with Guadala-
jara's fair ones, while all along against the store-fronts,
were rows of chairs where people sat laughing and talk-
ing. Such lovely faces, glorious eyes and dainty cos-
tumes as I saw under the west portales !
Guadalajara is more of an evening city than any I
had yet seen ; that is there is more out-of-door evening
life. The nights are warm and windows are left wide
open. You hear the chatter of voices, the music of
guitar or piano and catch glimpses of richly furnished
rooms in passing. There is music on the plaza four
nights in the week and it seems a general breathing spot
for the people. The class line does not seem quite so
strictly drawn there and all grades meet on the plaza.
The young peon in a zarape holds the blue-rebozo-girl's
hand in the shade of the banana palm; the more settled
ones smoke calmly on the benches ; ladies promenade
bareheaded, arm in arm, and the babies romp about,
with ayas at their heels. One evening it was growing
dark when a small fairy in white, with a cloud of dark
hair and big black eyes, detached herself from a flying
band of companion fairies and did me the honor to
alight beside me ; that is she sat down on the same bench
and began swinging her feet. Finding myself tete-a-tete
with so lovely and extremely young a senorita I thought
I might venture to speak to her. She was tired of play-
ing, she informed me, and had left her friends to rest a
moment. Oh, no, they were not stronger than she, a
little larger that was all. I expected every moment to
see a dark guardian in black shawl and white apron
swoop down upon her, but nothing happened ; and she
sat and trilled her baby Castilian at me till suddenly
9
176 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
that flying band appeared again. Then with a cunning
Httle bow and a sweet " con permiso " (" with your per-
mission") she flew away.
While these children were frolicking after dusk on the
plaza the outer walk was crowded with Indians, listening
to the music. It is enough to make one like the Indians
to see how unreservedly children can be trusted among
them. The peon class impresses one as distinctly
superior. The people are cleanly and intelligent and
there seems to be little drunkenness. Is this the reason
they are allowed more privileges or is it a result? Ai
certain recognition by their betters must certainly make
the serving-classes more self-respecting. Another trib-
ute to their good behavior are the few gendarmes. I
missed the lanterns of the gendarmes at every crossing
that we are used to in Mexico City.
Guadalajara is an easy city to go about in. The
streets are continuous instead of broken, as in IMexico
City, with a different name for every square. The
names of Mexico's streets are trying. When I have once
left the Zocalo, I never know whether I am on Plateros
or San Francisco : nor when Avenida Juarez ends and
Patoni begins. Guadalajara is clean. Its great market
always has the appearance of having been swept and
tended. There seemed a scarceness of flowers, or per-
haps I visited the market on an off day. The display of
vegetables and fruits was fine. Cauwtes, the Alexican
sweet potatoes, are abundant in these parts, but their
Irish cousins are small as everywhere in Mexico.
The population of Guadalajara is somewhat over one
hundred and twenty thousand. The altitude is about six
thousand feet. Among public works nearing comple-
tion were new waterworks and modern city drainage.
The waters of the Rio Grande were being utilized to the
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 177
end of supplying from four to five thousand horse-power
in electricity. The canal for this work was already fin-
ished and I was told that in less than five years the city
would have more than ten thousand horse-power in
electricity, at a cost of from one-third to one-fourth of
the present cost of steam. Guadalajara's greatest im-
provement, however, is the new railroad connecting this
city with the Pacific port of Manzanillo, making Gua-
dalajara the second city in commercial importance in the
republic.
Guadalajara oranges are famed for their delicious
flavor. And here may be tasted in its perfection the
noted vino de Tequila, a pleasant but heady beverage,
which is made principally near the town of Tequila, a
day's journey from Guadalajara. One large hacienda
produces from fifty to a hundred barrels of tequila a
day for export to Central and South America.
The great charm of the country is its unending variety.
The cities and their peoples retain their individuality
to a surprising degree. In each place you encounter
ways and customs quite different from any you have
seen, and in each you hear of other places where the
customs are still different. You naturally desire to visit
these as well and there seems no end to the interest of
traveling. In going from the capital to Guadalajara,
you will notice a marked contrast in the customs of the
two cities ; but it takes time to appreciate the many lit-
tle differences. These are largely due to climate, I
think ; for instance after sunset, when the air in Mexico
City is rather penetrating, in Guadalajara it is just fresh
enough to make one wish to be out of doors. There
was comparatively little driving. I saw some stylish turn-
outs but the people as a rule seemed to prefer walking.
The streets are most attractive in the evening. The
178 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
ladies go for a stroll in the cool of the day, just between
daylight and dark, and you see them sauntering about
in light summer gowns, and frequently with heads un-
covered. The portales are a favorite evening promenade.
They are brilliantly lighted, and there are always chairs
to rent if one cares to rest. The Sunday evening paseo,
which is the event of the week, might justly be called,
" A Dream of Fair Women."
There was practically no begging in the streets and I
was forgetting how to say, " Que le vaya con Dios ! "
("May you go with God!") which a Mexican friend
told me gratified the average beggar quite as much, if not
more than centavos ; and which I found far less expensive.
You hear little of lack of bread here. Every night the
street before the cathedral is thronged with little
kitchens, doing a thriving business, and there is food
to burn judging from the odors. There are no empehos
or ordinary pawn-shops in Guadalajara, there is only a
monte de piedad and two branch offices. There is a
respectable air to these places that dispels the romance.
It is in your dusty, ill-smelling, sure enough pawn-shop
on an out-of-the-way street in Mexico City, where the
Gachupin in attendance does not deign to notice you and
can with difficulty be persuaded to name a price, that the
thing becomes deeply, intensely interesting, and you not
infrequently find a prize.
El Baratillo in Guadalajara is as large as Mexico's
Plaza Mayor. It is wholly unlike any other place.
There are the usual collections of old iron, crockery
and miscellaneous junk, and besides there are vegetable
and fruit stands, restaurants, and places where they sell
a pint of charcoal or a single stick of wood. The latter
is displayed in little pyramids of four puny sticks, at
three cents for the lot which I consider dear. The two
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 179
extremes of city and country meet in the Baratillo. You
see the dingy collector of old clothes and scrap-iron side
by side with the fresh-looking ranchero, who has
tramped since sunrise the day before, behind his little
train of burros laden with sugar cane, and come to sell
his wares in the plaza. The former recognized me at
once as his lawful prey and began producing rusty spurs,
candlesticks, and old jewelry. The latter stared in open-
eyed wonder, but when I inquired about the cafia he
promptly chopped ofif a hunk and invited me to try it.
It is quite customary for all hucksters to ask you to prove
their wares and their patrons as a rule seem hard to
please. The woman with boiled calahazas (pumpkins) for
sale is most obliging. She has them loaded on a burro in
two great baskets or panniers. When a customer ap-
pears, she jabs a knife into one of the pumpkins and
presents it for trial. The customer tastes, smacks her
lips and shakes her head. The vendor jabs another
which does n't quite suit either and so it goes on, till
one is found with just the right flavor. The man who
buys sugar cane gets a lot for his money. Fancy six to
eight feet of long-drawn-out sweetness for five cents.
When I see a peon trudging homeward with one across
his shoulder, I always picture Mrs. Peon and all the
little Pcones seated in a row before their hut, com-
placently chewing.
The street vendor's cry is as different from that of
Mexico City as though it were of another country. You
miss the monotonous yet musical chant of the Indian
women that we hear in Mexico, especially those that sell
the little reed birds whose name is something like
chichicnitote. Here, while everything imaginable is
hawked through the streets, the vendors are nearly al-
ways men. The ice-cream man is first on the scene and
i8o THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
last to retire. He appears often at seven o'clock in the
morning, with a tall wooden pail balanced on his head,
and stopping in the middle of the street roars, " Helados
por un centavo! " (Ices for one cent). He then enumer-
ates the various flavors. His voice is harsh and gut-
tural, as are those of all his class, and you hear him on
his rounds till late at night. The man with baked
ca motes carries them on his head in an oblong wooden
tray ; and I saw fine fresh fish from Chapala sold in
the same manner. At night, the tamale men are out and
one occasionally hears a w^oman's voice.
English is decidedly in vogue. Many speak it readily
and you constantly hear, " All right ! " " How do you
do?" "Good-by!" etc. It is amazing how the Mexi-
cans acquire our language and employ it with compara-
tive ease, w-ithout leaving their own country, when so
many foreigners live in Mexico for years and never get
beyond the " present indicative " verbally.
Guadalajara is the home of the charro horseman, but
even there he is becoming infrequent. When in evidence,
he wears his attractive costume with peculiar grace, as
though to the manner born. Although many of the suits:
are richly ornamented, all have a certain distinctive air
as though made for service. Some are of brown or gray
cloth, with nothing to mark them save the short jacket
and tight-fitting trousers. The young men affect se-
verely plain riding suits as a foil for their richly
mounted saddles and trappings. One fine-looking fel-
low \vas dressed entirely in black without so much as
a silver button. His fiery little Arab was coal-black.
But the saddle was the most superb thing I had seen,
with dazzling silver decoration and heavy box-stirrup,
apparently of solid silver. Add to this a gorgeous, rain-
bow-hued zarape, tightly rolled at the back of the saddle.
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO i8i
and you have a very splendid figure. Among the many
picturesque sights of this picture-country, the charro
horseman shines preeminent. In my ovi^n httle collection
of the mind's eye, one of the choicest bits has for one
figure a handsome young charro, with all the attendant
bravery the name suggests. And the other is a girl with
wonderful dark eyes, and a classic profile, half-hidden
in the folds of a black shawl.
A delightful part of Mexico is the suddenness with
which fiestas drop down on you. I say " drop down "
advisedly. A fiesta once dropped down on me and
nearly extinguished me. It began on Friday and lasted
over until Monday. I had not the faintest premonition
that this fiesta was coming. On Thursday, I had wasted
all my substance on sundry antiquities which a design-
ing person brought me : idols, swords and the like.
Friday morning, at earliest banking hours, I sallied forth
to put myself in funds. The bank was closed till Mon-
day. I had the munificent sum of thirty-five cents in
my pocket, and as my only available friend at that time
happened to be one who had frequently expressed his
aversion to borrowing and being borrowed of, I passed
three awful days. I determined not to expend one
single centavo needlessly, and it was nothing short of
tragedy to see those thirty-five constituents of a for-
lorn hope slowly but surely fading away. If you want
to know what it really is to be " out in this cold world,"
try living three days on thirty-five cents. You can get
the feeling even in Mexico. Of course I might have
pawned my purchases, but it never occurred to me I had
an " uncle " in Mexico.
A fiesta dropped down just as unexpectedly while I was
in Guadalajara but luckily I had more than thirty-five
cents in the pocket. I first realized the season, when I
i82 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
found the portales crowded, and the little notion stands
converted into confectioners' shops, with every sort of
symbol displayed in sugar.
After all, the distinguishing traits of Mexico's various
cities and their peoples are in outward and really unim-
portant details. The same unwritten laws govern
society in all parts alike. It is an odd fact that many
rules of etiquette in the neighbor-republics are diamet-
rically opposite; and I believe few of us, either Mex-
icans or Americans, realize this until one visits the
country of the other. In the north a family who may be
newcomers in a city or locality, wait to receive the
visits of those who care to know them. In Mexico,
they must at once send " at home " cards to all whom
they care to know. It would be the greatest temerity,
on the part of a northern man, to take the initiative in
saluting a lady, with whom he had slight acquaintance.
Here it is the very thing he must do. Nor is this all.
A stranger in a Mexican city must bow first on meeting
each and every gentleman to whom he has been pre-
sented ; and if he would avoid breaches of etiquette, he
must be literally lynx-eyed ; for his new acquaintances
will make little or no sign of recognition. They regard
him with their usual well-bred composure ; it remains for
him to do the rest. I realized all this once while stroll-
ing with some acquaintances on a much-frequented
promenade. The place was crowded and the light was
that trying mixture of twilight and electricity, broken by
patches of absolute darkness. It dawned upon me that I
was in a delicate position. People I had met but once
would not bow to me first nor could I recognize them in
that light! Ladies especially look so differently at dif-
ferent times, owing to a change in costume, I wondered
which was worse, to bow to people I did n't know or to
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 183
fail to bow to those I did. The reaHzation that I had
perhaps been guilty of many omissions was annoying,
and I begged my companion to sit down for a while, feel-
ing that safety lay in inaction. But there was one girl
who felt sorry for the gringo. Anyway she bowed, with
a dignified yet gracious bend of the head and that bow
more than atoned for all.
One more episode that is too good to be lost. I went
into a shop one day and was served by the owner in
person, a comely dame, " fat, fair and forty." After a
few trivial remarks regarding the article I was buying,
she proceeded to subject me to a rigid and searching
cross-examination. Was I French, German or English
and how long had I been in the country? Had I come
for business or pleasure and when was I going home ?
Was I married or single? Had I left a novia (sweet-
heart) in ]\Iexico City? Ah ha! it was plain that I had
and that I was buying a gift to send to her ! This I
stoutly denied and said that on the contrary I was in
search of a novia, at the same time casting ardent glances
at my fair inquisitor. I might as well have languished
at a stone image. Her curiosity was wholly impersonal
and disinterested. She wanted to know because she
wanted to know, and having satisfied herself, she took my
money and said, " que le vaya Vd bien! " (May you go
well!) as unfeelingly as though she had not just received
the sacred confidences of my inmost soul.
CHAPTER VII
Visit to Lake Chapala : A Race for Dinner : A Pleasant Swim-
ming Pool : Indian Fishermen : " El Presidio " : A Ride on a
Mexican Coach : Trite Truths About Silao : Sights Worth
Seeing in Guanajuato: Savage Dogs: A Method of Warfare:
The Cross on the Mountain : A Man's a Man for a' That.
I REMAINED for nearly a month m Guadalajara,
and the longer I stayed the easier it became to
stay on. It is a city of infinite charm ; its life is
modern yet leisurely ; its people are cultured, vivacious,
gay even, as compared with those in some of the more
conservative cities, yet preserving always the poise and
composure that are national characteristics. My fellow-
boarders in Mexico City had given me letters of intro-
duction to relatives and friends in Guadalajara, and these
had been a passport to a delightful circle. I was wel-
comed with frank kindness into the homes of my friends,
where in some instances I was addressed by my Christian
name, this being the most flattering sign of favor in a
Mexican home. I had long adopted the mode of ad-
dressing my female friends by their Christian names, it
being the social custom for gentlemen to so address the
ladies of their acquaintance, whether elderly or young.
But it was in Guadalajara this was first reciprocated, and
hearing my name thus for the first time in many months
I experienced a thrill of pleasure, for I knew it was a trib-
ute to my friendship with a son or a brother.
A delightful feature of social life in Guadalajara
were the afternoons at the home and studios of the
184
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 185
Mexican painter, Felix Bernardelli, where women and
men of artistic, literary and musical pursuits met for
music, poetry and gossip. There were many pleasant
suppers and musical evenings at the homes of friends,
and again I felt the elusive yet dominating thrall that is
Mexico's, and beneath whose sway weeks glide into
months and easily into years. The traveler however feels
it a duty to travel ; yet in leaving Guadalajara, I was dis-
consolate. Even now, at thought of this lovely city,
the desire arises to apostrophize her ; yet I can think
of nothing that is worthy save that name of praise
and endearment, — " Guadalajara, Pearl of the
West ! "
My acquaintances had besought me not to leave the
State of Jalisco without paying a visit to Lake Chapala,
which lies on the boundary adjacent to Michoacan, and
is the favorite watering-place of all that region. I ac-
cordingly set out for Atequiza, which is the railway
station nearest the lake. At Atequiza, which is reached
in an hour, you have your choice of a saddle horse or a
seat in the stage. The owner of the horses told me he
could give me one with a pace like " the rocking of a
canoe on the lake." I am convinced now that he re-
ferred to the lake on a squally day, but in my guilelessness
I thought he meant when it was pacific. The stage-
driver declared that while he had to wait for the Irapuato
train, he could give the saddle horse an hour's start and
then beat it into Chapala. This prospect of a race de-
cided me in favor of the saddle horse. A gaunt looking
caballo was led forth, and my luggage was loaded on to a
second with little black-eyed Santiago vip behind as
mozo and guide. Santiago said he was eleven years old,
but he afterwards remembered that he was only " walking
toward nine." He said one forgets now and again, and
i86 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
I admitted this was true especially when one has reached
his mature age. I told Santiago that if we beat the stage
there was a real in it for him, and he thereupon informed
me that there was a fine spur in one of the saddle-bags.
There are about a dozen gates to be opened on the road
to Chapala, at the rate of a centavo a gate, which is cheap
as gates go. They separate the various ranches. All
would have been well, if in crossing one of these ranchos
I had not met the head vaquero (herdsman). He was an
interesting gentleman in silver-trimmed, black trousers,
slit up the side, high russet boots and a magnificent som-
brero. He opened conversation by complimenting my
horse. I said yes, he was " good food for buzzards." I
then praised his horse, which was really a fine one. We
were jogging along conversing when suddenly I heard
yelling in the rear, and there right upon us was the stage.
The driver was bawling, " Andale ! " and the peon beside
him was throwing rocks at the eight little mules, as they
tore along. The driver shouted, " Adios " and I dug my
spurs into that wretched caballo feeling that I was
beaten. The caballo saw things in another light. He
could loaf so long as no one tried to pass him ; but the
thought of taking dust from eight plebeian mules was
more than his proud Arab spirit could endure. He began
to forge ahead with the speed of a locomotive, and the
coach was left far in the rear where it belonged. The
caballo had decided to let me see what he could do and
he kept it up. In a jiffy we reached the top of the hill.
Before us lay the "lake, with the mountains beyond and
the little town of Chapala lying close to the margin. ' It
made me think of Lake Patzcuaro ; but you are beside the
latter before you know it, traveling by rail, while Chapala
you see from afar and have all the delights of anticipation
in approaching it. So we galloped down to the lake
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 187
with the fresh wind in our faces, and I was on my way
to dinner when that boastful cochero drew up his eight-
mule team before the hotel.
That the manager of the Hotel Arzapalo was a man of
taste, I knew when I saw the hotel, with its clambering
rose-vines, its well-kept gardens and the little pier run-
ning out into the lake, with comfortable benches at either
side. When he assigned me to a room, with a view of
mountain and lake combined, I was doubly sure. The
memories of my ride, together with a bountiful dinner,
made me content to loaf the rest of the afternoon ; but
towards evening I started in search of the warm mineral
baths, for which the place is noted. A gentleman who
knows Chapala, had said to me, " Don't go to the fine-
looking bath-house with the ' Bano ' sign ; follow the same
street till you come to some old buildings and then ask
for the tanque." So I walked by the fine-looking banos
and in an old orange orchard, I found the great swimming
tank. It must be sixty feet long by twenty wide, and the
bottom slopes so that at one end it is over a man's head.
It is surrounded by a high wall and the palms and orange
trees grow close up to it. The water is a trifle more than
blood-warm, so that you feel an almost imperceptible ac-
cession of warmth in stepping into it. It is the kind
of a bath that you leave reluctantly and then feel tempted
to return to. The springs at Cuautla, Morelos, are
nearly like these in temperature.
When I came out I asked the duefia to sell me some
oranges ; and she sent a boy to pick them — three big,
luscious ones for two cents. An Indian was launching
his canoe, and I asked him to take me in ; he ran and got
a little rush-bottom chair which he put in the stern, and we
paddled away. There was the last flush of crimson and
purple in the west and a crescent moon overhead ; and I
i88 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
could hear the voices of the Indian boatmen, as they
rowed out through the dusk to the fishing grounds.
While the lake is often perfectly still during the after-
noon, a breeze comes after sunset and soon little waves
are running up on the beach. The moon makes a silver
track across the water ; you hear a soft lapping along
the shore, and the scent of flowers pervades the shaded
balcony of the hotel. The despondent traveler, who has
been seeing the country by day and waging fierce wars
by night, in hotels where he pays for a bed and then has
to fight to hold it, will hail the Arsapalo as a haven of
rest. The beds and bed-linen are spotlessly clean and one
lies down with no misgivings as to the manner of his
awakening. I could tell gruesome tales of nights spent
in Mexican hotels, but I won't. Perhaps the reader is
tender-hearted ; and for me, it would only open old
wounds anew. The Arsapalo has some fifty rooms,
a large sala and dining-room overlooking the lake, and is
provided with a bar and billiard table. The cooking is
excellent and the bread is all made in the house. The
hotel is situated in w^hat is, beyond doubt, one of the
loveliest and most healthful spots in all Mexico. Good
hotels are a crying want in the republic, and when I en-
counter one I sing its praises.
Circumstances over which I had no control forced me
to leave Chapala. My trunk ran amuck. I found it at
Silao, but I lost — Chapala. I left it when my love was at
its height. It was morning on the lake. The mists were
hanging on the mountain tops, the breeze was ruffling the
surface of the water, and the palms and orange trees
shone emerald-green in the sunlight. I rode on top of the
coach and as we approached the summit of the divide,
we could see a good part of the length of the lake, some
thirty leagues in all. There was the little island called
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 189
" El Presidio " where the last of the Chapaltecos, about
fifty warriors, made their final stand against two thousand
Spanish troops ; and were only dislodged by bullets and
starvation. There is a plan on foot in Jalisco, to erect a
suitable monument on the island in honor of these heroic
men, who fought to the end for the freedom of their peo-
ple. I was not familiar with this tragic episode and the
gentleman beside me told it dramatically. I looked again
and again at the little island, trying to fancy the scene
during the siege. Just then we reached the summit.
There was a last glimpse of a great stretch of shining
water, and the next minute we had crossed and were
bowling down the other side to Atequiza,
If you have never ridden on a Mexican coach, you
have still a new sensation in store. The Chapala coach
has a cushion on top and if you are fortunate in sharing
this seat, you ride iniiy a gusto, seeing the country and
the manner of manipulating an eight-mule-team at the
same time. There are two about the size of rabbits on the
lead, a string of four in the middle, and two larger ones
on the wheel. The driver has a whip, with a lash long
enough to reach the leaders. His assistant has another
shorter one, but his chief persuaders are rocks. The
assistant earns fifty cents a day and free insurance against
dyspepsia. He alights at the base of every hill and fills
his sombrero full of rocks on the way up. He then shies
several boulders big enough to dislocate a hip at the
leaders ; and when the whole team are in full gallop, he
swings himself on to the box in some miraculous way — I
think he stands on the hub. He could never do it if
he wore shoes. When they change mules, he leads the
discarded team up and down to cool them off; while the
driver takes the new ones and tangles them up, so you
can't tell where wheelers end and leaders begin. At
igo THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
last they are off again with a whoop and a yell. People
talk of Mexico as slow, but the word can never be ap-
plied either to stage coaches or street cars, when they
once get started.
Some American friends had written me from Guana-
juato, advising me to spend a day in Silao. They said
I would not regret it, and I decided reluctantly to act on
the suggestion. Somehow Silao never sounded interesting
and my one impression has always centered around a
very good supper that I had with the Howards when we
separated there, they going to Guanajuato, which they
always declared the most picturesque place in the republic.
When we reached Silao, whom should I find on the
Guanajuato train but the very people who had advised
a day in Silao. " Hurry up ! " they said, " get your
luggage and come right along with us ! "
" But what about Silao ? "
" Oh, never mind, we'll tell you about Silao ! " they
answered.
What is sight-seeing compared with good-fellowship?
Inside of five minutes, with the assistance of friends and
cargadores I was loaded bag and baggage on the train for
Guanajuato.
I made the following record in my notebook: —
" Silao is where you leave the Mexican Central for
Guanajuato and get good things to eat at the station.
" The officials there are obliging and the baggage-mas-
ter does all in his power to assist tourists who are trying
to do impossible things in the way of train-connections.
" Silao is reputed to have the best climate in the repub-
lic ; and there are hot mineral baths, some ten miles
from the station, which are unexcelled for rheumatism.
" Among the industries, is the manufacture of thread
for rebozos.
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 193
" The elevation is 6,000 feet. Population about
15,000. "
It takes an hour to reach Guanajuato, first in the little
train and then in the street car. When we arrived a
band was playing on the plaza and the square looked
bright and animated, with the senores promenading in
the little park and the peones in the middle of the street.
We had supper in a restaurant, where we were served by
a waiter who moved faster than any mozo I have ever
seen in Mexico. My friend told me he acquired this
habit of velocity in the ring at the Sunday gallos
(cock-fights). When I went to my room, there was a'
girl standing in the balcony of the house opposite. She
looked very interesting in the moonlight as she talked
across the narrow street to some one in the hotel,
evidently a suitor.
The following afternoon my friends invited me to ac-
company them to their hacienda, which was in the moun-
tains, southeast of the city. The views from the summit
were superb, with the city lying at the bottom of the
valley, and the haciendas and churches of V'alenciana and
Los Reyes away off on the mountain side, and just a
glimpse of La Luz which lies beyond the summit. The
trails are wide enough for two horses to go abreast, and
their stone pavements, demolished in places, tell the
story of an old and immensely wealthy mining section,
where thousands of mules were constantly coming and
going, laden with provisions and treasure. Like all
mountain trails, these are marked at intervals by crosses.
At one point, in a terrible fight between two peones, the
head of one was completely severed by a machete, and
rolled into the cafion below. The cross was erected at the
spot where the body was found. Not long ago a burro,
laden with water jars, went over a cliff, something like
194 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
three hundred feet high, and escaped with the loss of two
front teeth and his cargo. On the summit are two im-
mense balance-rocks, side by side, known as " the coma-
dres." It seems two Indian comadres quarreled there
once upon a time, and were turned into stone. They
stand to this day, a warning to all passers-by to keep their
temper, at least till they get over the ridge. At sunset
we met the Indians, men and women, tramping over the
mountains to their homes in Guanajuato. They work in
the mines and the women earn from four to five reales a
day, breaking and sorting the ore.
I have visited many mining haciendas in Mexico. At
some there are women-folk and at others not. In the
living rooms of the latter you see a pile of boots in one
corner, a tangle of coats and overalls in another, and
smaller articles of wearing apparel strewn broadcast.
Everything is hung up on the floor. Now in the first
named, it is quite a different matter. There are rows of
nails, with the clothing hung up in order ; and there are
cabinets, made of empty candle-boxes nailed on the wall,
and pictures and photographs. The hacienda I visited
was of this kind. I slept in a cozy little room and there
were curtains at the windows, a box-washstand with
water-bottle and glass, and a fur rug. The moral for
mining men is obvious.
When we started for Guanajuato the next morning it
was crisp and cool. The men and women were already
well up the mountain, on their way to the mines. They
must have started before sunrise. Our horses were in
high spirits and we had to curb them from racing down
the steep trail. On arriving I took leave of my friends,
and set out to explore Guanajuato, which I long had
wished to know.
Of all the quaint, picturesque old cities I have seen in
THE AIAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 195
the republic, Guanajuato is the quaintest and most pic-
turesque. It is built in a winding canon and it not only
occupies the bottom, but climbs up the sides and spreads
over the foothills. At the sides the hills rise so abruptly,
that the summit, which is higher than the church towers,
seems almost within a stone's throw. When the first
charm of the place has worn off, there is a shut-in feel-
ing and one longs for the sight of a distant horizon.
To say the streets are narrow does n't express it. If
you start from your hotel for the post-office, your course
is a veritable zigzag: perhaps you find the post or per-
haps you bring up again in front of the hotel, in which
case you have only to try it over. The third time seldom
fails. Wherever you go there is always the feeling that
you are in a maze, and the same uncertainty as to where
you are coming out. The streets are well-paved but very
narrow and some of the sidewalks will not allow two
abreast.
There are several trails leading into the mountains,
and innumerable footpaths like stairs, cut in the solid
rock. I followed a street crossing the city and found
myself up against the steep side of the canon, with noth-
ing to do but climb for it. The stairs terminated in a
narrow lane, between adobe walls and cactus hedges,
which ended on the ridge. The lane was full of wolfish-
looking dogs which darted out at unexpected places with
teeth and hair bristling alike ; but I have learned a thing
or two about Mexican dogs. You have only to stoop
as though picking up a rock and the most savage will
turn tail or at least keep at a safe distance. A small
Indian boy once put me up to this dodge. I was passing
a rancho on horseback when a gaunt hound sprang out
and attacked me like a fury : I think she had puppies.
I did n't want to shoot her, for more reasons than one,
196 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
so I took to flight but the brute kept up with me and
I expected every second to feel her fangs in the calf of
my leg. I finally left her behind and farther on en-
countered a little peon boy jogging along peacefully on
his burro, his plump, bare legs offering an apparently
tempting morsel. They were quite intact however, and
I asked him how he managed it. "I got down and
grabbed a rock," he replied.
One afternoon about three o'clock, I set out for the
white cross which tops the highest peak back of the city.
It looked an hour's climb at most. At sunset I was so
far above the town it looked like a toy village lying at the
bottom of the canon, but the cross was still a long way
oflp. I did n't care to make the descent in the dark so
I gave it up, consoling myself with that beguiling word
" maiiana." This becomes quite easy after you have
lived in the country a while. As I returned, I saw be-
low me on the trail what I took for a scarecrow in peones'
clothing with a large white cloth attached and fluttering
in the wind. I watched it a long time but it remained
motionless ; and I was surprised on coming near to find it
was a live peon who had washed his handkerchief and
was holding it in the wind to dry. How these people
can keep so still is a mystery but they seem to find it
easy enough. Morning or night is the same to them.
How easy it is for a peon to get up in the morning ! He
picks up his bed which consists of a red blanket, swings
it lightly about him, leans up against a wall, lights a
cigarro and gazes complacently at the busy world.
Guanajuato's population is rated at from forty to fifty
thousand. Its elevation is 6,800 feet. At the upper end
of the city there are some beautiful residences and the
city park adjoining la Presa is one of the best I have
seen. The fine building-stone is quarried just back of
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 197
the city and is charming in color. Three shades were
emplo3'ed in the fagade of the Juarez theater — gray, rose
and a deHcate green. In combination with the bronze
ornament and figures, the effect is very pleasing. I was
prepared to be disappointed in the theater but it is a
superb edifice and its lines are restful to the eye. I
never tire of looking at the exterior. Within all is pro-
fusion and lavishness of decoration. Every inch of wall
space and ceiling is covered wath raised ornament,
Oriental in design and gorgeous in color. Wlien the crim-
son velvet hangings, with their elaborate gold em-
broideries are in place, the effect is magnificent. The im-
mense stage is provided with complete sets of every sort
of scenery : there are winter and summer scenes, groves,
lakes and Louis seize drawing-rooms. So well planned
is the theater that street cars, laden with the company's
trunks, etc., drive directly beneath the stage before un-
loading. The large foyer or, better, the drawing-room,
is decorated in crimson, with a plain red carpet, red
velvet hangings and furniture done in the same material,
embroidered in real gold and with a heavy gold-bullion
fringe. The appointments of this room alone are said to
have cost thirty thousand dollars. The entire cost of the
theater is reckoned at between seven and eight hundred
thousand dollars. Considering its splendid construction,
its wealth of ornament without and within, costly
bronzes and marbles and elaborate furnishings, these fig-
ures do not seem unreasonable. I doubt if any city in
the world can boast a more luxurious art temple than el
Teatro Juarez.
An unfortunate contrast to the many attractive fea-
tures of Guanajuato are the revolting spectacles pre-
sented by street beggars, who greet you at every turn.
You are conscious, while admiring the theater perhaps,
198 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
of some crawling object beside you, and there is a loathe-
some creature, minus a hand, a leg or a foot, or possibly
minus all three. The gulf separating this wretch from
the opulence on every hand is appalling ; and as I had
come directly from Guadalajara, where such sights are
not in evidence, I noticed it the more. How the Mex-
icans, who are naturally a kindly people, and above all
lovers of the beautiful, can endure such horrors in their
streets is a mystery. The conditions and customs that
have led up to their apparent apathy are, perhaps, too
numerous for a stranger to understand ; but I hope it
W'ill not be many years before the people themselves will
realize what a detraction it is from the beauty of their
country, and provide a remedy.
Guanajuato impresses one as a busy place. All day
you hear the clattering of the mule pack-trains over the
stone pavements and every mule carries two sacks of ore.
The sacks are usually of hide and look very durable.
The trains are attended by more peones than I ever saw
before ; in fact there is one to every five mules, with a
head man on horseback bringing up the rear.
Another extensive traffic is that of the water-carriers.
Nearly all the drinking water is brought from springs in
the mountains. At any hour of the day you meet the
water men driving their burros loaded with large earthen
jars of water. The price is three cents a jar. Peones
also peddle drinking water about the city, carrying it in
a sort of huge bottle made of clay. This is suspended
from the head strap, and to fill a vessel, the vender
merely ducks his head, and directs the stream with won-
derful precision.
There are plenty of tequila saloons in the town and
one that appears to be quite popular is at the corner of
the cemetery wall of "La Compania," under the very
THE AIAN WHO LIKES AIEXICO 199
drippings of the sanctuary. The church is a massive old
pile, always interesting but especially §0 at dusk, when
the cedar trees loom, black as ink, at either side of the
path, and the blackbirds, from all the country round, take
up their lodging there for the night. Such a chattering
and fluttering about as they settle themselves to their
complete satisfaction ! I went back again, when the
moon was shining, and imagined the cedars looked blacker
than ever for their legion of little night visitors. The
streets were deserted and all was perfectly still ; but sud-
denly some rude bird jostled his neighbor who told him
to keep quiet. He replied that he guessed he had a right
to shift from one foot to the other if he wanted to and
the result was a squabble. A mischievous young bird in
one of the top boughs yelled, "Come ofif the roost!"
This roused the entire flock and in a minute they were
all at it, chattering at the top of their lungs. It was
funny to hear the racket gradually die away, as one by
one they dropped off to sleep again, till at last all were
still, save for two old lady birds who cheeped to each
other in subdued tones, that the way some blackbirds
carried on was a scandal and nothing less.
La Presa, the great dam of Guanajuato, impressed me
as a stupendous achievement in the way of construction,
and one that is proof against any and all emergencies.
A former one gave way and many persons were drowned
in the flood that resulted.
A place that I visited with more interest, was the his-
toric Palacio de las Granaditas, which was once the store-
house for all the grains purchased by the crown. When
Hidalgo marched from Dolores to Guanajuato, with his
band of insurgents, the royalists took refuge with their
families in this palace. It was stormed and taken by
the revolutionists and history says the place ran rivers
200 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
of blood. When Hidalgo was finally made a prisoner at
Chihuahua, and executed in company with his leaders,
Allende and Jimenez, the heads were severed from the
bodies and brought to Guanajuato, where they were sus-
pended from the corners of the palace. The nails
are still there and beneath them are tablets bearing the
names of these heroes of independence. A plate near the
entrance records the entrance of the revolutionary army
and the capture of the palace on September 28, 1810:
and another states that the edifice was begun in 1788 and
completed in 1808 at a cost of $207,086.28. This minute-
ness as to detail indicates a remarkable accuracy on the
part of governmental bookkeepers, during the time of
construction.
On my last night in Guanajuato there w^as a special
service in the great church of La Parroquia, and the
place was ablaze with light and crowded to the doors.
There was a fine orchestra and a good tenor voice and
I stood outside a long time listening. The night was
as bright as day and the people were flocking from all
sides, to kneel and cross themselves before the entrance
even if they could not find room inside. Among them
I noticed an Indian, evidently a peon from the mines, in
his scant cotton clothing and a ragged white zarape,
which contrasted sharply with his ■ dark and very re-
markable face. He had the head of an artist, and his
long, coal-black hair, not coarse like the average In-
dian's, but fine as a European's, heightened the effect.
His finely chiseled features w^ere rather Grecian than
otherwise, and his face, as he stood gazing into the church,
had that singularly unimpassioned look — shall I call it
pure? that we see in ascetics and sometimes in men who
work hard and live frugally. At last he fell on his knees,
crossed himself with lightning rapidity, and then rising
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 201
and muffling his chin in his zarape went and leaned
against the churchyard wall.
I was curious to know what the fiesta was and be-
sides I wanted to talk with him, so I went up and spoke
to him. In an instant his hat was in his hand. I said
" Cubrase Ud! " (Cover yourself !) and we entered upon
the natural relations of a man who wants to ask ques-
tions, and another who is able and willing to answer
them. He said it was the fiesta of Maria Santisima of
Guanajuato and that it lasted nine days, during which
all the people came to offer thanks for the kindnesses
God had seen fit to bestow, and pray for their contin-
uance. (Our Thanksgiving Day precisely, I thought,
only it comes earlier and this poor fellow won't have
either turkey or mince pie.) He worked in the mines, he
said, and lived with his madre and little sisters, provid-
ing the necessities for the family. No, his house was
not very far, a little near ! making a comprehensive sweep
with his arm, from which I understood, as well as though
he had told me, that to reach his house he must cross and
go far down the other side of that high mountain, that
seemed to touch the sky. I fancied that, according to my
standard, it might be a little far, but he appeared as un-
concerned as though he had to go a few squares at most.
The speech of this Indian was clear and rapid and
showed no mean order of intelligence. He and his peo-
ple had talked pure Castellano all their lives, he said, but
there still remained towns somewhat retired where the
people spoke their native dialect. " When they come
here, with their uncouth ways, we stand and look at
them and that is all," he added. I asked him about his
work and if there were many accidents. He said men
were often hurt but seldom killed. I told him of some
of the things that happened in other countries ; but while
202 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
he was interested, he insisted that there could be no
caves in his mine ; the ground was too hard. Indeed this
is true of most Mexican mines. Then he tried to re-
member a story his father had told him about a great
mine once being suddenly flooded and many, many peo-
ple drowned, more than a thousand he believed. It was
long ago, and nothing of the sort had ever happened
since ; but mass was still said in his barrio for the repose
of their souls. Then saying, "Sir, I retire!" he lifted
his hat, gave me his hand and was gone. An hour after,
I fancied him crossing the top of the ridge in the moon-
light ; but I dare say at that moment he was curled up
under the white zarape, in his hut at the foot of the moun-
tain, the hut that sheltered his mother and little sisters.
Only a peon ! " But for a' that, — an' for a' that, — a
man 's a man for a' that."
CHAPTER VIII
Busy Leon : Pleasant Visit at the Home of Don Juan : Golden
Days in Lagos : Aguascalientes the Land of Hot Waters,
Genial Climate and Warm Hearts : Its Foreign Colony :
Baths al Fresco: "Mochte": Barber's Versatility: An An-
tique Zarape : Puebla the City of Angels : Its Cathedral :
Its Monuments: Birthday of Uncle Sam :' Difficulties of
English : Abundio.
AS the time for my visit to my friend Don Juan,
who resided in Lagos, was drawing near, and
I wished to spend a few hours in Leon, en
route, I now returned to Silao, where I took the main
hne for Leon, arriving there the same afternoon. After
securing lodgings at the hotel I went to call upon a friend
I had made in Mexico City, who was one of Leon's
leading lawyers. As my stay must necessarily be brief,
and as he was occupied at the time of my arrival, he in-
troduced me to a young nephew, who kindly offered
to go about with me.
Leon is destined to become a large manufacturing
city. My friend the lawyer once said, " We are not rich
in Leon but we are all workers ! " I saw few signs of
extreme poverty, at least not the kind that begs ; and
judging from the fine residences, there must be plenty of
wealth, but it is imostentatious wealth. There is an
excellent street-car service in Leon, and its citizens seem
to prefer this ineans of getting about to driving. I was
impressed by the air of industry. It was late in the
afternoon and the streets were full of people, carrying
203
204 THE MAN WHO UKES MEXICO
their work to turn it in at the shops. There were men
with huge bundles of rebozos on their backs and women
with their arms full of shoes. Until recently, all the
manufacturing had been given out as piece work and
done by the people in their homes, the work being paid
for on delivery. We visited the tanning establishment
of La Hormiga (The Ant), whose monthly output was
three thousand hides and six thousand skins. The other
large factories were for hosiery, zarapes and hats, re-
spectively. Leon has a large brickyard and there are
extensive quarries near, which yield a fine stone for
building and a beautiful quartz-like rock, almost a marble.
There is an abundant water supply, derived from a large
reservoir and also from artificial wells in the center of
the city. The theater is one of the best I have seen
and quite appropriate for a city of Leon's size. It is
light and roomy, with wide aisles, and fitted with com-
fortable cane opera-chairs.
I learned of a novel method of "playing bear" (love-
making) while in this progressive city. The lover
boards a street car in the cool of the afternoon, making
the circuit repeatedly, during which he passes his lady's
dwelling. This way of doing it has distinct advantages.
There is a " now you see him, now you don't " feature
that must add to the zest of the lady's enjoyment, while
the " bear " has the chance to see all the other girls.
The derivation of the phrase " playing bear " is amus-
ing. The lover begins his attentions by following, at
a discreet distance, the lady of his adoration, or by
standing for hours before her dwelling. If his preten-
sions meet with favor he presents himself daily before
her home ; the regularity and duration of his vigil be-
ing accepted as an indication of his ardor and con-
stancy. It may be months before he receives so much
THE MAN WHO LIKES T^IEXICO 205
as a word from the lady's lips, or in writing. [Mean-
time his prolonged and patient waiting earns for him
the appellation of " bear."
The evening I spent at the home of my lawyer-friend
where I heard some of the musicians of the younger
set and, as in all the cities I visited, their selections
were good and remarkably well rendered. There were
some beautiful voices and the playing was notably fine.
I have concluded that Mexico's best music is confined
to the homes or to small and select recitals. As my
train left at an early hour, I said good-by to my host,
not expecting to see him again, but he was at the train
the following morning, riding a superb horse ; out for
a gallop before breakfast, he said.
I arrived at Lagos in the evening. True to his promise
Don Juan met me at the station and after a short drive,
we alighted before an open portal, and I saw the
patio, with the lights shining on a thicket of roses
and turning the climbing bougainvillaea into masses of
pink flame, and heard my friend saying, " This is your
house ! " I shall not attempt to write of the manifold
kindnesses and sweet attentions accorded the visitor in
a Mexican home. Friendship with one member of the
household means friendship with all, entailing the inter-
change of Christian names and all the kindly relations
which that implies. A delightful compliment is paid a
guest in dispensing with much of the accustomed cere-
mony. " Do what pleases you ! " is the assurance he
receives. When the hour came for retiring and the
daughter of the house, a lovely little sefiorita of fifteen
summers, gave me her hand and said with charming
friendliness, " You know you are in your own house ! "
I vowed inwardly I had never heard a prettier or more
gracious flattery.
2o6 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
Lagos possesses an ancient and luxurious swimming-
bath, hidden away in an old garden, amid a tangle of
orange and rose trees. The repository of the huge,
rusty key, that opens the battered portals leading to
the garden, is known only to a few. Don Juan was in
the circle, however, and we sought the garden and were
splashing in the pool, when the sun first struck the water.
The oranges were hanging thick overhead and the
smell of roses was in the air. Then we returned to the
house for almiierso. My friend's mother presided but
took nothing herself. She had been to early service
while the stars were still out, and had desayuno before
we even awoke. Almuerzo is really an elaborate break-
fast. There was a profusion of everything and much
that was quite new to me. One thing I liked very much
was a camote, deliciously prepared and served with thick
cream. Then there were the best little tortillas, that
kept coming on piping hot and were eaten with another
cream, something like cheese. There is one woman in
every well-organized kitchen who is called the tortil-
lera, and whose business it is to provide these small,
snowy, delectable wafers. I had never tasted such
chocolate before. It was not so thick as they make it
in Mexico, and far more delicious in flavor. Another
drink, that I had for the first time in Lagos, was
colonche. It is the juice of a special kind of cactus
fruit, slightly fermented. My friends were lamenting
that there was none of this fruit to be had, as colonche
is a delicacy and they were anxious I should try it.
They finally gave it up as hopeless, and naturally I was
consumed with a thirst for colonche which was unex-
pectedly gratified. I had met once in Mexico City a little
maiden-lady with silvery hair and a face like a cameo,
who played the guitar delightfully. She lived in Lagos.
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 207
How she learned of my thirst is a mystery, but that
day at dinner there was a large decanter of colonche,
sent with her compHments. It looks much like currant
wine and is the most delicious refreshment I have ever
taken in Mexico. If the pulque, which Xochitl presented
to old king Tecpancaltzin, impressed him as favorably,
I don't blame him for adopting it as his favorite tipple.
Lagos has an abundance of crystal-clear water. It
lies in the center of a level plain which once held count-
less lakes. Many have disappeared, but the whole ter-
ritory seems underfiowed by water and a well of a
hundred feet invariably encounters it. There are some
remarkable artificial wells quite near the city, in a tract
that was once the bed of a lake. The soil, which carries
a great deal of salt, produces excellent alfalfa and a thick,
wiry grass which cattle like. At intervals are seen
clumps of low bushes, called jara and a well, sunk at
any of these points, results in a vigorous, unfailing
flow of warm water. The wells are made by sinking
an iron tube about five inches in diameter the required
depth. There are some ten or eleven in all, less than a
hundred feet deep, at a cost not exceeding eighty dollars
each. The water registers about sixty-six Fahrenheit
and is very soft and pleasant in taste. The ground
throughout this section is fertile, and the people will
tell you that if you break off a twig and put it in the
earth it will grow. The trees are chiefly French elms,
pepper trees and eucalyptus.
The farther north I traveled, the more freedom I
observed in the intercourse of the young people, espe-
cially in the smaller cities, where the leading families
are connected by long friendships and frequently by
marriage. I saw this illustrated in Lagos. There were
more pretty girls there proportionately than in any other
2o8 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
place I had visited, and they flocked together hke a big
family of sisters. Every evening a bevy of seiioritas, ac-
companied by a chaperon and attended by their youthful
admirers, assembled in the moonlit corridor for an im-
promptu musical. I never wearied of the quaint folk
songs and daiizas, sung by the fresh young voices to
guitar and mandolin accompaniment.
I had now been away from Mexico City considerably
over a month, and was beginning to long for the
metropolis. I had still to visit the city of Aguascalientes,
where I also had friends, and while I anticipated the
pleasure of meeting them and seeing the city, my de-
sire was strong to be in jMexico City, the center of life
and activity in the republic. After a week of what I
have always remembered as golden days in the home of
Don Juan, I took leave of his gentle mother, and all that
radiant circle of youthful dons and lovely seiioritas, and
went on to the city of Aguascalientes or Hot Waters.
A gentleman, who first visited Aguascalientes long
before the day of railroads, had been telling me of his
early experiences in that delightful old town, of his
cordial reception at the hands of its people, the grand
entertainments to which he was bidden at adjoining
haciendas, and the lavish hospitality of his Mexican
hosts. His reminiscences recalled the letters of Mme.
Calderon de la Barca, who wrote so delightfully of her
life in Mexico in the early '40's. Aguascalientes is still
cordial to the stranger, but her cordiality is of a more
discreet and thoughtful kind than it was in the halcyon
days, when the Mexican don assumed that every traveler-
guest was a gentleman and treated him accordingly. In
Mexico to-day, as in other lands, suitable introductions
alone assure an entrance into Mexican homes.
The foreign colony of Aguasealientes is very large
THE MAN WHO LHvES MEXICO 211
and English is generally spoken by foreigners and Mex-
icans alike. I had the fortune to be put up at the Casino
where I found pleasant reading- and writing-roooms,
card-rooms, billiard and pool, excellent baths and a cafe.
There were some hundred members in the club, one-third
of whom were foreigners. That night my Mexican
friends took me to visit some English friends of theirs,
whom they described as mny siiiipaticos (very agree-
able). These young men, who lived in bachelors' apart-
ments, had one room devoted to athletic sports; and we
found several fellows, gloves on, pummeling each other
for dear life. After our arrival, there was a round be-
tween two young Mexicans, and then one of our hosts
put on the gloves with a Mexican. Fencing was also
on the cards, although there was none on this occasion.
We adjourned to the sala for music and refreshments,
and I took occasion to make some inquiries regarding
the nationalities of the different gentlemen in the com-
pany. The following countries were represented in ad-
dition to Mexico : England, France, Germany, Canada
and the United States.
I was convinced of the sincerity of the friendship
between these young Mexicans and their friends, by an
amusing conversation that passed between two of their
number. One of the young dons, it seemed, was some-
what a Lothario, preferring to flit from flower to
flower, or rather from window to window, instead of
confining his amorous glances always to the same halcon.
One of his Northern friends, a Canadian, twitted him
on his inconstancy and then got off something like the
following, to the great delight of the Mexicans. " If
I had a no via (sweetheart), how constant I would be!
Always sighing, every night, beneath her window ! "
" Why have n't you one ? " inquired the Mexican.
212 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
" Because I don't know how to ' play bear,' " replied
his friend sadly.
" I will teach you, I will teach you ! " said the young
Mexican so earnestly, the genuineness of his offer was
not to be doubted. Nor could any better proof be shown
of disinterested friendship, than the willingness to in-
itiate a foreigner into the methods of courtship em-
ployed in Mexico.
The warm baths, in which the place abounds, are
near the station, although the most popular ones are
at the end of the Alameda. I was glad to see free baths
for both men and women and they seemed to be well
patronized ; but the Indians are strange creatures.
Within a hundred yards of the depot and close to the
tracks, were long, narrow ditches filled with this same
warm water. Here scores of women and girls were
bathing; there must have been between sixty and eighty
in all, splashing and ducking in the muddy water, while
the children tumbled about in shallow puddles caused by
the overflow. All seemed utterly unconscious and I pre-
sume they liked it better than being shut inside four
walls. Their clothing had been washed and spread on
the grass to dry, and when an Indian woman dresses
she does it so deftly, there is nothing immodest about it.
In every locality the people have some dish which is
peculiarly their own. From the time I arrived in
Queretaro I saw camotes in abundance, and wished more
than once the hotels would serve them, instead of their
incessant meat courses. They are really a sweet potato,
and if well cooked, delicious. The camote dulce or
preserve of Puebla is famous, and may be bought at the
capital, but I never saw them there in any other form.
Here the women boil the potatoes and mash them up
in a small wooden bowl, adding milk to suit the taste of
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 213
the customer. I had boiled camotes with cream, when
I was in Lagos, and Hked them immensely. In Uruapan,
the colored servant of a Southern gentleman recognized
their kinship to the sweet potato, and fried them
deliciously. At the hotel in Aguas, the Chinese cook
prepared them the same way ; and I was sad at the
thought of all the time I had spent in Mexico without
them.
I must not fail to speak of " Mochte." The pro-
prietor calling him " Moctecuhzoma," but I compromised
with " Mochte." IMochte was the small, fat Indian boy
who made my bed, tucking the covers in religiously at
the head and leaving them loose at the foot. Perhaps
he thought I slept wrong-end-to : or more likely as-
sumed that my feet were as indifferent to cold as his
own, and that, like him, I wanted to be well muffled
up about the head. Mochte had a thick, stubby foot,
with toes that looked as though they could perform the
function of fingers if necessary.
Why the barbers of Aguascalientes charge just half
what they do in other places is a mystery, but such is
the case. I was riding with my friend Don Alberto
through one of the outer barrios and in passing a small
barber-shop he said, " The barber-shops here charge
three cents and do all this : they cut your hair, shave
you, extract a tooth and apply leeches." I accepted this
as a jest, but when I later patronized the best hair-
dresser in town and he asked the modest sum of twelve
cents, I decided that after all my friend's statement was
not so unreasonable.
I relapsed into my old ways in Aguas, that is I went
in pursuit of a gorgeous zarape and landed the prize.
I resolved, on beginning my journey, not to buy a single
zarape ; but this one was irresistible, a genuine Saltillo,
214 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
with greens, blues, reds and yellows, all faded and mel-
lowed with age. The wearer went into a shop to buy
cigarros and I hung around till he came out, and then
inquired politely if he cared to sell his overcoat. Of
course he did ! Who ever saw a peon who would n't
sell his zarape after the sun came out? The purchase
involved a long walk in the wake of the peon and con-
siderable talk as to price, but it resulted in his handing
it over. He would get a new one, red and warm, for
the sixth part of what he sold it for; and I was at last
the happy possessor of a Saltillo zarape. And yet I
was not happy. I had acquired, through the ignorance
of the owner, property at less than its market-value. It
is difficult to judge what the value of an antique zarape
is, but I felt sure this one would bring many times what
I paid for it. And with the thoughtless greed of the
trader I had offered the peon less than he asked. While
I make no pretense to extraordinary fairness in trade,
I have never experienced satisfaction, the excitement
once passed, in having gained unreasonable advantage.
On my next visit to the mines of my friend, Don Alfredo,
I presented the zarape to Doha Marciana, who hung it
up as a window-curtain. I discovered then that even
a votive-offering does not atone for unscrupulous pos-
sessing.
I fear that I disappointed my Aguascalientes friends.
They were constant in their attentions, and again I was
bidden to their homes where I received the same kind
and sincere welcome. My desire to be again in Mexico
City increased ; and while as in all great cities there is
a hardness to surface-life in IMexico, there are also the
brilliant accompaniments of hardness that attract.
Then, too, my friends' vacations were nearly over, and
they would shortly return to the capital. So it was with
The cciment
In a convent garden, I'uebla
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 217
the prospect of an early meeting that we said, " Hasta
luego ! " and I took train for Mexico City,
Ralph Waldo Emerson said, in effect, that the traveler,
journey where he will, carries his personal worries with
him. This I proved on returning to Mexico. An
uneasy, restless spirit possessed me, and, worst of
all, I failed in my endeavor to analyze it. A Spanish
philosopher has said, " There is a remedy for everything
but death ! " I felt there was a cure for my restlessness
if I could only discover it. As it was, a week in the
capital was enough. The rains persisted, and the daily
appearance, every afternoon, of dark, forbidding storm-
clouds, with the close, oppressive air that in Mexico
precedes the storm, proved unutterably depressing. At
night the air, which was still sultry, was charged with
a peculiar odor, suggesting salt-marsh ; and as none of
my friends could account for it, they all assumed that
it was both noxious and deadly. To add to the festive
conditions extant in the capital, the drainage-works
were then in course of construction ; and it seemed not
unlikely the unwholesome smells emanated from there.
My friends, observing my unrest, recommended a
visit to Puebla ; and with slight urging from them,
I set out for the " City of the Angels," with the added
anticipation of seeing the pretty town of Jalapa, which
enjoys a more mundane celebrity for the beauty of its
women.
Puebla is well-named " City of the Angels." It
proved little short of Heaven after la capital, with its
heat, dust and drainage odors. I found that the salt-
marsh odor, which had permeated Mexico City at night,
was not pernicious, as I had feared. We had it for
fully half an hour on the train after leaving, in crossing
the flats which are full of alkali. I had a feeling of
2i8 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
being near the sea. The ride to Puebla by day is charm-
ing. At Texcoco the salt smell changes for the scent
of flowers, and from there on the air is sweet. At
Mazapa, where there is a big hacienda, I got the pun-
gent, resinous smell of pine, and then I saw that the
hacienda advertises pine timber. Otumba, which I al-
ways associate with battles (Cortes had a tremendous
fight there) looked peaceful enough. I saw several peo-
ple embracing but no signs of fighting.
Puebla's population is 95,000. The city impresses you
at once with its cleanliness. You have the feeling of
being high up (it is nearly as high as Mexico City) and
also a feeling that you are not shut in. This is partly
due to the outlook, which is unconfined save for low
hills; yet there is a buoyancy, a freedom from oppres-
sion in the atmosphere that adds to the feeling.
The churches are gorgeous. I did not appreciate the
cathedral at first and I doubt whether it is possible to
appreciate so stupendous an edifice on short acquaint-
ance. I had to grow to like Mexico's cathedral, while
some of the smaller churches pleased me at once. The
only cathedral that held me from the first was Morelia's.
There is an enchanting quality, a lightness, a grace of
outline, that captivate the beholder. I ended by enjoy-
ing Puebla's cathedral. The rains had washed the
marble figures of the saints snow-white, and made the
gray building-stone more somber. I place a great deal of
importance on color in buildings and their surroundings.
In this connection, I fancy cloudy skies and dull gray
days suit this cathedral better than the golden light and
the bright blue heavens that seem the fitting environment
for Morelia's. I never realized until now how I had un-
consciously allowed these great churches to make for me
the atmosphere of their respective cities. Mexico's
Monument of Independence, Puebla
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 221
cathedral is big, massive, commanding; generous and
spreading, rather than towering in its proportions. That
of AIoreHa has something fairy-Hke about it ; its ro-
mantic beauty seems to dominate the half-tropical city,
with its silent houses, sleeping gardens, and air of
mysterious repose. Puebla's cathedral is cold, severe,
magnificent. It towers to Heaven. While Mexico's
cathedral bells make a deafening tumult, cheery withal,
and Morelia's bells are silver chimes, the bells of
Puebla's great temple are deep-toned, solemn, austere.
The city itself is dignified. The people have an air of
quiet composure and there is little evidence of frivolity.
The hospital of Puebla is an enormous and very
splendid structure, filling the whole of one square, north,
east, south and west. The entrance is adorned with a
row of superb columns, and the front of the central or
main portion is entirely of red, yellow and black bricks,
disposed in an agreeable design and making a fine color
efifect. The other edifice of first importance is the
Palacio Municipal, an elaborate structure of gray stone,
fronting on the plaza. Puebla's houses are famous for
their tiles, which give a picturesque variety of color,
peculiar to this city alone, I believe. Often the fronts
are of bright glazed tiles, with overhanging cornices of
stone, elaborately carved and painted. You get the im-
pression that the old residents were magnificent in their
tastes ; though such profuseness of ornament in building
could only have prevailed where labor cost little. Many
of the houses, where not of tiles, are painted in delicate
colors. I saw one which was a fine old rose, with its
wide, richly carved cornice and balconies painted white.
The balconies were filled with geraniums which made a
blaze of color. The effect was charming. As in Mex-
ico, many of the churches are hidden by other more
222 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
recent buildings. Across the stretch of some uninter-
esting roof, you get ghmpses of fine bits of carving, the
best part being effectually hidden. There are, too, many
unfinished churches, though I never object to one tower
being left incomplete.
On approaching Puebla from ]\Iexico you have a fine
view of the great pyramid of Cholula, crowned by the
little church of Xuestra Sefiora de los Remedios, whose
graceful lines and slender towers are well-known from
photographs. It is hard to realize that the hill is arti-
ficial, it is so covered with vegetation; and harder still
to substitute in the mind's eye, for the pure white church,
the frowning walls of the old temple, dedicated to
heathen rites and sacrifice. It is hard to realize that,
at the coming of the Spaniards, where Puebla stands
there was nothing; wdiile quaint Cholula, now the merest
pueblo, was then a great Indian city, a city of temples,
the J\Iecca of the Indian empire. The ride from Puebla
to Cholula is a matter of thirty minutes, but the con-
trast is that of an old, retired village as opposed to a
proud and opulent city. The houses of Cholula are
generally one story and the churches are plain in con-
struction. The people as a rule are Indian in type, but
thrifty and neat; and the town has a comfortable air,
the plaza especially being attractive and well kept. The
old church of San Andres, outside the town, is a vener-
able, moss-grown pile, and in it there is a quaintly
carved confessional. The legend goes that in it a priest
was murdered; and to this day you can see the blood
stains on the rawhide covering.
Puebla has a fine pasco or alameda with two splendid
monuments. There is nothing better in Alexico, unless
it be the Cuauhtemoc statue which would be remarkable
anywhere. One of these is to Nicolas Bravo, A plain
THE MAN WHO LIKES iMEXICO 223
shaft of gray stone rises from the pedestal, with the
figure of the hero in bronze, in general's uniform, and
the angel of victory descending to crown him with laurel.
The other, which is very large, is dedicated to " Los
Heroes de la Independencia." The shaft is marble. The
figures clustered about it, which are bronze, are Hidalgo,
Iturbide, Morelos, Allende and Aldama. Then there
is Pipila, with the great stone on his back, with which
he battered in the doors of the royalist stronghold at
Guanajuato, another peon with a torch, and the drum-
mer boy, who peers up into Hidalgo's face while he
beats the peal " to arms." The old paseo, which has
magnificent trees, is now deserted, save by the common
people.
In the morning I went up to the hotel roof to view the
city. I found a nice old lady up there, doing some odd
chores, and she gladly showed me the various points of
interest. She said she was born in the year of " the
big cholera." I don't know just when that was, but I
think early in the thirties. She told me the names of all
the churches in Puebla, and she knew them by their
towers. Then she showed me the forts of Loreto and
Guadalupe of Cinco de ]\Iayo fame, and told me how,
after the fighting, she saw the dead soldiers lying under
the portales. Pobrecitos (poor things) she called them.
She told me about the soldiers Americanos coming,
too, and declared that some of the charro horsemen
cast their reatas at them, and dragged them from the
saddle. They, too, were pobrecitos, as, in fact, were all
who were killed, whether friend or foe. While listening
to her, I was reminded that it was my country's birthday,
seeing the stars and stripes floating from a housetop;
and I was curious to see if she knew the flag. She said
she was not sure, but she thought it was the Spanish
224 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
flag: that some one was celebrating a dia santo. " Per-
haps it is Tio Samuel (Uncle Samuel)," I suggested.
She looked a little mystified and said, " Perhaps."
As yet I had not seen the volcanoes for the clouds;
but Abundio, the mozo in charge of my room, said at
5 A. M. they were resplandecientes, (resplendent) and
volunteered to call me. I guessed that Abundio was
from Oaxaca, and this gratified him so that he gave me
a short history of himself. He is a Mixteco, and ex-
tremely warlike in his inclinations. He says his pueblo
was continually in war with the adjoining one. He
is n't quite sure whether he ever killed a man or not ;
but after a fight, there would frequently be ten to a
dozen dead. He said the Oaxaqueiios are the bravest
Indios in the republic, that they can live on little or noth-
ing, even go two days without food ; and that they can
run up the steep hills and rocks like deer. He said
he would not care to be a regular soldier, whom he con-
temptuously called a slave, but he thought it was good
to fight for pure liking. He liked geography and
seemed to have a general idea of the old world coun-
tries, asking whether Russia was as large as Estados
Unidos. He was going to work till he had saved a
hundred dollars. Then he would buy some good books,
" with which one could civilize himself somewhat," and
retire to his pueblo to study. Abundio assured me that
all the most powerful men come from his state; and
gave me a long list of names, beginning naturally with
Don Porfirio Diaz, and also accounts of several battles in
which he was the hero. I asked Abundio for fun if
he had n't some Spanish blood. He shook his finger and
said, " Not one drop." This was quite evident. He
had a mat of coarse black hair, rather small, snapping
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 227
eyes, and his face was very dark, but bright and viva-
cious.
While in Puebia I had a pleasant morning with the
good priest in charge of the ancient convent " El Car-
men." I found him entertaining a brother-priest, and
together we wandered through the interminable corri-
dors of the old convent, founded by the early Spaniards
over three centuries ago, with the massive, carved arches,
tiled stairways, and dilapidated but priceless paintings
on the walls of the patios, where the sunlight reveals
the wonderful colors, and in dark recesses, where they
are scarcely visible. The convent is now a home for poor
boys, and as there were no classes, the youngsters were
busy making toy balloons of colored tissue paper, which
the padre said delighted them above all other amuse-
ments.
As we strolled about, we compared adventures and
impressions in traveling through the republic. The
padre had traveled much in various parts and on various
missions. He told of a long journey in the State of
Michoacan, where they entered pueblos in which the
Indians neither spoke a word of Spanish nor wore any
clothing, other than the primitive cape of palm leaves.
In one village, the people cried when they saw them,
" Here come the revolutionists," and ran to get their
machetes. On learning their mission, they cast them-
selves on the ground, face down, and begged their bene-
diction. They then did everything they could for their
comfort, bringing them a hot drink of chocolate and
ground melon seeds, their one article of food at that
season. How little we know, in our railway travels, of
the primitive peoples in Mexico !
This was the pleasantest experience of my visit to
228 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
Puebla, and I think the padres enjoyed it as well. I am
sure that no thought of creed entered anybody's mind.
I knew them for good, devoted men, and they knew me
for a fellow man.
It had rained the best part of the time while I was in
Puebla. The city takes care of the water in the streets
better than any other in the republic. Although ap-
parently level, there is still grade enough to keep the
water moving; and wherever two streets come together,
there is a box-like gutter of masonry, directly in the
middle, which collects the flood and conveys it past the
crossing. The gutters are spanned by little stone
bridges, which are patronized by the gente decente (de-
cent people) ; the common people, usually barefooted,
seeming to prefer splashing through the muddy stream.
Constant rain in a big city becomes very monotonous,
and I was looking forward with joy to Jalapa, with its
balmy air, wealth of flowers and various tropical beau-
ties.
CHAPTER IX
Fair Jalapa : New Scenes and Customs : A Strange Plant :
The Stone Monkey: The Cathedral: The Market: The
Plaza : Longing for Old Friends : Ancient Tlaxcala : His-
torical Reminiscence : Convent of San Francisco : Meeting
the Governor : El Santuario : Romance and Tragedy.
I DEPARTED from Puebla in the morning. The
first part of the journey lay across a level and fer-
tile country, which ascends gradually, past the old
Spanish fortress at Perote, to the summit at the ex-
tremity of the tableland, where the altitude is over nine
thousand feet. From there the descent into the hot
country is rapid and the scenery is very beautiful. I
arrived at Jalapa, which lies midway between the table-
land and the coast, in the early afternoon. At first
sight I thought, " It is like Uruapan ! " I took the open
car, drawn by a six-mule team, and we started for el
centra. The mules were buckskins, with the black stripe
along the backbone and the zebra markings, that mean
good breed; and they were as alike as six peas in a
pod. They carried us at a spanking trot, up a long,
narrow, cobble-paved street, between neat, one-story
tiled houses, with wide, overhanging eaves common
to the hot country. At the end of the street is a sharp
ascent. The driver whistled and rattled the brake, the
six buckskins tugged at their collars, there was a hur-
ried scramble of hoofs on the cobbles, and we were at
the top, trotting past the plaza with its palms, ever-
greens and briar-rose hedges, into the center of the
231
232 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
town, where the old Cathedral looks across a smaller
plaza at el Palacio Municipal, with the comfortable hotel
and the wide portales filling the farther end of the
square. On strolling to the plaza after dinner I was un-
prepared for the magnificent scene that met my eyes.
The plaza crowns the hill, and from it you look off, over
the lower portion of the city, across a broad stretch of
country to the distant mountains. It being then the
rainy season, they were partly hidden by the mists, which
rested on their peaks, filled the cafions, and floated before
them, revealing illusive, sunlit vistas. What they must
be on a clear day, with Orizaba lifting his white crest
eighteen thousand feet into the blue, I could but partly
conceive. Throughout my stay, I had not so much as
a peep at the ancient monarch, and with Mrs. Hudson's
charming legend fresh in mind, I fancied him, in his
annual mourning period, when he wraps himself, head
and all, in his cloud-blanket and refuses to look upon
his people.
Jalapa's plaza is a terrace garden, beautiful with
flowers and crystal fountains ; but when you tire of all
these, there are the mountains to look upon. You leave
the place reluctantly, looking back, and resolve that next
time you will devote yourself to the garden. I went
the next morning determined to see nothing but the
flowers, which were profuse and varied. The gardener
said that ]\Iarch, April and Alay were the flower months.
In addition to briar roses, which form the hedges, there
were fuschias, hydrangeas, fleurs-de-lis, balsam, dahlias,
marguerites, sweet william, larkspur, chrysanthemums,
cadmus, canna, roses and lilies in variety, and many others
that I did not know. There was one particularly gor-
geous lily in the Spanish colors, crimson and gold ; and a
shrub, called tiilipan, which bears both a single and
THE MAN WHO LHvES MEXICO 233
double flower of crimson, with yellow stamens. One has
but one set of petals, with the yellow tuft in the center,
while others, on the same tree, are as full as double
poppies.
Jalapa is a clean city. It is built on a hill and drains
naturally. I smelled no uncanny smells there. The
fountains are especially attractive, being usually of blue
and white tiles, spotless, and filled with clear, cool water.
There is that pleasant monotony in the houses which is
peculiar to the old cities, or the old parts of cities. I
am sure the eye is oftener troubled by the glaring unre-
lation of adjoining houses, than by their sameness. In
Jalapa there are whole squares of low, cool-looking
houses, some light blue, others terra-cotta or white.
The tile roofs have taken on a good color with age :
the windows are protected by green or black bars, and
through the Moorish grills at the entrances one gets a
glimpse of flowering patios. All growing things flourish,
there is such an abundance of water. In the outskirts of
the city, many houses have extensive walled gardens,
which are jungles of coffee shrubs and banana palms.
As the roadways are built up, you look over the walls
and down upon a tangled thicket of green. On every
hand you hear running water, but so thick is the foli-
age, you seldom see it. Many of these walls are pro-
vided with a long, low bench on the street side; in fact
there is every opportunity for resting, with comfortable
seats lining the long front corridor of the palace and
chairs under the portales, fronting the plaza. Never-
theless I was impressed by the vivacity and activity of
the Jalapenos. They are quite different in this respect
from any people I have met in my travels. The lower
classes are notably decent and cleanly. They walk
rapidly, with erect, graceful carriage, and collectively
234 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
they are a handsome people. I noticed more than usual
in the poor people, that gentle, kindly expression that
draws me to them : and if I spoke to them, their way of
answering showed them as kindly as they looked.
The city has rather a cosmopolitan air and really is a
center in a way. The foreigner attracts little attention,
but meets everywhere with friendly treatment. One gets
an idea of what is meant by la franqueca de la costa (the
frankness of the coast). There is little begging and all
the working-people have a comfortable look. This ex-
tends to the beasts. The mules are all sleek and lively,
and I saw men leading burros with halters. This burro
seems quite different from the one we see in Mexico City.
:He is quite a fiery little fellow, proud and quick-stepping,
and looks as though he would bolt on provocation. Could
anything be more different than the yoking and driving of
oxen in Northern lands and in Mexico? Here the yoke
is for the neck, and the oxen are guided by " Gee-haw,
buck ! " There, the yoke is for the horns, and the
driver walks silently ahead, his goad resting lightly
on the cross-bar between the heads of the oxen and the
great brutes follow its slightest deviation.
Jalapa is lighted by electricity, as are the palace and
various buildings. The Jalapa Electric Light and Power
Co., which has its plant at the falls of Texolo, lights in
addition to Jalapa, the adjacent towns of Coatepec, Xico
and Teocelo, and several large haciendas, besides sup-
plying power for factories and coffee mills. At Xico,
about an hour's run from Jalapa, trains connect with
the stage, which conveys passengers to la Cascada de
Texolo one of the beauty spots thereabouts. Texolo,
pronounced Tay-sho-lo, means " stone monkey." In a
corn patch, at some little distance from the falls, there
is a rock with the figure of a monkey carved on it.
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 235
The Indians that people the district say that when the
fathers of their tribe settled there, they encountered the
carving, left by a previous people. The older tribe, ac-
cording to legends, was very extensive. Old Xico, whose
site is now marked by a few ruined dwellings, is said to
have been a large town. A plague destroyed the popu-
lace and the town gradually disappeared. An extensive
area is thickly strewn with obsidian arrow fragments and
pieces of pottery, and a number of stone idols have
been discovered there.
The falls, which are magnificent, are in a deep gorge,
where vegetation runs riot. There are beautiful wild
flowers, among them orchids of a brilliant rose-pink,
and the finest ferns I ever saw. The tree ferns are es-
pecially large and full and there is a finer variety, which
hangs from the rocks in great clusters ; also a species
that I think is called elk-horn. The strangest plant is
one with a feathery, fern-like foliage called vergoncoso
which I take to mean, " the ashamed one." At the
slightest touch, not only of a live body but of any for-
eign object, the leaves curl up tightly and remain closed
— how long I cannot say. You touch the top of the
plant and it shuts up, quick as a wink : you touch a lower
branch, and presto! that has closed. If you grasp the
stalk, the entire thing seems to go to sleep, all the little
branches drooping, hanging limp and apparently life-
less. The flower is a little fuzzy tuft, pale pink. There
is another plant, evidently of the same family, which has
a yellow bloom. When there are no flowers, however,
you cannot tell them apart except by their actions. He
of the yellow flower is quite unabashed when you lay
hold of him. He holds up his head in defiance, where
his little pink sister droops with shame. My host did
not know the name of this bravo, so we christened him
236 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
"sin verguenza" (without shame). In walking about
you continually encounter one or the other, and you
cannot resist touching every one, to see whether it is ver-
gonzoso, or not. We learned later that the unashamed is
called sensitivo. I picked some of each, and though the
latter held out for some time, he eventually curled up
as the other ; so he is sensitive, if not supersensitive.
Perhaps he is like the male of other species. If left
alone, he eventually becomes a tree, resembling some-
what the pepper tree. As to vergonzoso, I cannot say,
I should suppose each rebuff scared her out of fully a
year's growth, and that, in this way, she would never
reach maturity.
Two other plants, that we did not touch, are known as
mal homhre (bad man) and mala inujer (bad woman).
They have broad, flat leaves and are really nettles.
One thing reminded me of the North, even there.
It was a beautiful creeper with a blue flower like our
morning-glory. In the North, it is carefully tended and
opens only for a few hours in the morning. Here it
runs wild over everything, coffee plants, banana palms,
fences and trees alike ; leaping from one to another,
trailing in streamers and deep festoons, and flaunting
its exquisite azure flowers all day long, and all night,
for aught I know.
I am reminded to speak of the birds. They are every-
where,— in cages, in the trees, in the city and out of it;
and all sing, with full-throated, flute-like voices. I im-
agine the altitude, less than four thousand feet, is better
for vocal organs than a higher one. In the mountains,
at a height of eight to ten thousand feet, there are no
song birds ; at least where I have been. There are plenty
of birds, but all have harsh, shrill cries. Even the cat-
On the Viga Canal
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 239
tie seem incapable of good hearty lowing, but bleat feebly
as though they had weak lungs.
Every time I went on the streets I noticed things
that are different from Mexico City. The women of the
serving-class wear, many of them, what I should call
for lack of a better name, a sort of scuff slipper which
protects the toes and sole of the foot and is only kept in
place by scuffing as they walk. It is unusual to see a
slovenly house mozo. His clothes are all wash material
and show that they are frequently laundered. The poor-
est evidently possess at least one change. As the serv-
ants here are more active, much more seems to be re-
quired of them. Our table-boy swept the corridor and
did chamber work besides; and if one of the children
cried while he was serving the table, he darted out to
pacify it. Some of the Jalapa milkmen ride horses or
mules, and carry four cans in straw pockets, slung fore
and aft from the saddle. Pulque, which is brought from
up above, is delivered on mule-back, in bottles held in
two crates which hang one on each side of the mule, who
wears a collar of bells, and seems proud of his pro-
fession. The cargadores are a fine, sturdy set, also
comparatively clean, feet and all ; and they bow to you
on the slightest provocation. They are evidently a step
towards the Veracruz cargador, who drinks vino tinto
and banquets his cronies. I noticed that many peones
smoked large, villainous-looking, black cigars. I never
saw that but once in Mexico, and the smoker, I felt sure
from his gloomy eye, was away from his own tierra.
The street venders seldom cry their wares. At dusk,
nimble fellows in spotless white, trot about carrying
wooden trays with delicious, shiny loaves of bread ; and
the inevitable dulces and peanuts are sold on the curb.
240 THE MAN WHO LHvES MEXICO
The cathedral is an interesting old edifice, with one
tower, generally rambling and picturesque, and little
Moorish, grated windows, scattered here and there, and
a clock which is lighted at night. I arrived in time for
mass. The church was undergoing repairs, outside and
in, and scaffolding and ladders were everywhere. The
workmen evidently had orders to keep working, no mat-
ter what happened. Some six or eight were busily
chipping stone-work inside, and the racket quite drowned
the priest's intoning and the piping of the small organ.
The boys' voices, however, rose above the din, and
seemed unusually clear and sweet. At the elevation of
the Host, two wheels, one on each side of the altar, all
hung with bells, were whirled rapidly by altar boys,
and rang musically. I never happened to see this before.
As the mass proceeded, the Indian workmen gradually
stopped work, and stood reverently attentive, all save
one big fellow, who kept doggedly at it, pounding away
with a small sledge-hammer. The mass ended and the
people went out, but he seemed quite oblivious to all
save the work in hand. A group of Italian laborers sat
near me and they seemed serious and devout, though
they paid slight attention to the usual forms.
The city market is a big, imposing structure, very
plain, surrounded by broad corridors with fine arches,
and with an entrance on each of its four sides, between
rows of massive pillars. The rotunda has a fountain
and stalls, which are not in use, the display all being
in the outer corridors, which are really portales with
shops and restaurants opening upon them. The favor-
ite cafe which is always crowded to the door, is naturally
la Jalapefia, which is presided over by a very pretty
girl, with the customary rose tucked back of the ear.
At one corner of the market there is a clump of wil-
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 241
lows, shading a stone fountain with a broad rim, just
right for a seat, and there the people are lolling morn-
ing, noon and night. The night life of Jalapa is like
that of Guadalajara, though possibly it keeps up till a
later hour. Ladies promenade in groups, both with and
without escorts ; and on all sides you hear the sweet
salutation, Adios! ending with the rising inflection, in-
stead of dropping the voice, as in Mexico. I have
noticed it too, in the suburbs of the capital. Perhaps
it means more intimate relations among the residents.
At night the moon broke through the clouds and favored
us for quite an hour. The plaza was very animated,
with groups of pretty girls and caballeros promenading,
and children romping. I think they were playing ring-
around-the-rosy in Spanish,
The Alameda or Parque Hidalgo, in the older part
of town, is a quaint place, circular, and surrounded by
huge masonry benches, fully eighteen feet long, placed
at intervals of six feet around the entire circle. Evi-
dently when Jalapa is en fiesta she has crowds to take
care of. The place seemed like a great amphitheater,
with the trees sprung up inside and filling the arena.
I am continually impressed by the remarkable building
of the old Spaniards, from their greatest monuments to
their smallest. These old bench'es are massive, dignified
and finely proportioned.
I stayed a week in Jalapa. In the end, the lavish
profuseness of nature and the constant rains became
oppressive. There was too much of everything, — water,
vegetation, flowers. I found it enervating in every way,
yet could not make up my mind to leave. I sat outside
the hotel a long time, trying to diagnose the unsatisfied,
restless feeling that for weeks had troubled me. And
I succeeded. I was homesick for the mines, — for my
242 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
good friends, Don Alfredo and Dona Marciana. I went
to my room and began preparations for departure. I
already felt better and began to whistle.
Before I left Mexico for Puebla, it had been planned
that a friend who was leaving, a few days later, for
Oaxaca, should join me in Jalapa; and that on our
homeward journey, we should visit the ancient city of
Tlaxcala, capital of the state of the same name, which
adjoins the state of Puebla on the north. I was re-
luctant to abandon this visit, yet the failure of my friend
to appear half-inclined me to do so. Then, too, the
thought of a reunion with Don Alfredo and Doiia
Marciana was now transcending all other interests. I
was still in doubt when I took the north-bound train.
I had always been interested in Tlaxcala. History gives
it a foremost place among the ancient Indian nations, and
it occupies the unique one of never having yielded al-
legiance to the great Montezuma. Many and fierce were
the battles between the heroic Tlaxcaltecas and the
Mexicanos, who wished to subdue them. The former
were always victorious, and the little State retained its
independence, until the coming of the Spaniards. Tlax-
cala was a republic. The people, generally supposed to
have belonged, with the Aztecs, to the Nahuatl family,
lived first on the shores of Lake Texcoco ; but owing
to quarrels with the Aztecs and other neighboring king-
doms, they migrated to the region now known as Tlax-
cala, which is bounded by the states of Mexico, Puebla,
Hidalgo and Veracruz. There they became a hardy,
vigorous and independent people ; repeatedly repelling the
attacks of the other tribes, who frequently laid siege to
their stronghold.
When Cortes reached the tableland, in his march to
the capital of Montezuma, he found it desirable to pass
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 245
through Tlaxcala ; and he sent messengers to the capital,
to ask the right of way. He met with a peremptory re-
fusal, but he was determined to pass with or without
permission, and the result was a number of bloody bat-
tles with the Tlaxcaltecas, in all of which the latter were
defeated with heavy losses. A treaty of peace was at
last effected, and the Spaniards, as friends and guests of
the people, entered the city of Tlaxcala, which then occu-
pied the hills above the site of the present town. They
were met by multitudes at the gates of the city, who
showered them with flowers and adorned their horses'
necks with garlands. One historian says a hundred
thousand people came out to meet them; and Cortes
himself, in a letter to the emperor, compared the city
with Granada, affirming that it was larger and more
populous. It was divided into four quarters, separated
one from the other by high stone walls, and governed
respectively, each by its own chief or sefior. The four
chiefs were Maxixcatzin, Xicotencatl (the elder),
Tlehuexolotzin and Citlalpopocatzin, and their names are
inscribed on a tablet in the old convent as the first
Tlaxcaltecas to receive Christian baptism. From that
time until the conquest was completed, the Tlaxcaltecas
were the faithful friends and allies of the Spaniards, to-
gether with the Cempoallans or Totonaca, the friendly
Indians of Veracruz, who had aided Cortes in van-
quishing those of Tlaxcala.
After the massacre of Cholula, when Cortes resumed
his march to Mexico, and the Cempoallans abandoned
him, fearful to trust themselves within the domains of
Montezuma, the brave Tlaxcaltecas were steadfast and
accompanied him to the Aztec capital. They shared with
the Spaniards the horrors of the Noche Triste and all
the hardships of that disastrous retreat; and far from
246 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
blaming them as the cause of their misfortunes, were
stancher than ever in their devotion. They shared, too,
in the victorious battle of Otumba, afterwards guiding
the Spaniards back to Tlaxcala, where they were given
a warm welcome and found friends to nurse them and
heal their wounds; the chiefs assuring them that they
and their people were their faithful allies till death.
It was in Tlaxcala that thirteen brigantines were built
under Martin Lopez, with the ready aid of Indian work-
men; and these ships were carried over the mountains,
piecemeal, on the backs of Indians, to the lake of Tex-
coco. The journey took four days and the escort was
composed of twenty thousand Tlaxcalan warriors. In
the final siege of the Aztec capital, the Tlaxcaltecas were
the main support of Cortes ; and a Tlaxcalan chief helped
rescue the conqueror, when his horse was killed under
him, and he was about to be carried ofif a prisoner.
How any one could ever question the fidelity of the
Indian as a friend, after these events, which are his-
torical, I cannot understand.
When I reached Puebla, it was raining: in fact I had
seen little else but rain for a week past. Whom should
I run across in Puebla, but my friend Don Miguel, whom
I had expected to meet at Jalapa but who had been
held up five days by washouts down Oaxaca way. As
I have said, our plans had included a trip to Tlaxcala,
but I had given that up, being tired of prowling about
alone. It is well enough in bright weather, but on rainy
days I want a human companion.
"Shall we not go to Tlaxcala?" Don IMiguel asked,
after making it clear that el agiia (the water) and not
he was to blame for our tardy meeting. At the magic
name " Tlaxcala " the day brightened visibly. INIy
"Why not?" had such a taken-for-granted sound, I be-
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 247
gan to believe I had never really given up going. Our
train left at 7 130 the following morning, and the day
was gloomy enough, with rain imminent; but with a
good companion, I forgot the weather. We had coffee
at the station wdiere the Chinese boys spoke neither
English nor Spanish, a thing I often notice in the
Mongolian in Mexico. These Chinese eating-houses in-
variably have good, hot soda-biscuit and the vilest cof-
fee, W'ith a strong savor of the ubiquitous cockroach.
The ride from Puebla to Santa Ana Chiautempan,
where we left the train for the street car, takes about an
hour. I always feel, when I leave the railroad, I am
getting closer to old Mexico, Railroads are fine things
to take you comfortably near any given shrine, but for
the last ten or twenty miles, give me a diligciicia or at
least a street car. At San Pablo Apetatitlan, a little
pueblo we passed through, all was delightfully primitive ;
and in the quaint church, evidently very old, the bell was
tolling mournfully, announcing a recent death in the vil-
lage, and calling on the living to pray for the soul of
the dead. The tolling is called doblaiido, and my com-
panion admitted that while he knew it was practised of
old, he had never heard it before. The bell Avas also
tolled formerly when death was at hand. Agonias it
was called, and it supplicated prayers for the dying.
Both impressed me as solemn and beautiful.
As we left San Pablo, we caught a momentary glimpse
of two beautiful towers, that just showed above the
hills between us and Tlaxcala. A young charro said
the church was El Santuario de Ocotlan, so-called from
the appearance of the Virgin in a pine tree ; from which
the ocote (pitch-pine) is taken. We lost sight of them
immediately, but this only added to our anticipation.
The delight in approaching a town for the first time.
248 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
in this land where all towns have something of the
picturesque and beautiful, is indescribable. Before we
entered Tlaxcala, we passed innumerable abandoned
houses of adobe fast going to ruin, which evidently
once constituted an extensive suburban district. On
reaching the town itself, we inquired for the best hotel,
and were told there was but one, which simplified mat-
ters. My friend had assured me that we should call on
Governor Cahuantzi, of whom I had heard much and
whom I was anxious to meet. I reminded him that we
had brought no letters, but he said that made no differ-
ence. " I am a Mexican," he said, " and you are a jour-
nalist. It is but right that we should pay our respects to
the Governor." Almost immediately on our arrival,
however, he encountered a good friend in an old resident
of the town, and this gentleman offered to present us.
We went at once to the palace, where he made an ap-
pointment for us to meet the Governor, and we then
set out to see the city.
The palace is very large and very old, dating from
the sixteenth century. Its dilapidated state had made
repairs necessary, but thus far they had been unob-
trusive. The exterior had been replastered and left
in the natural color with no attempt at ornament, leav-
ing the beautiful stone carving about the entrances, as
it was left by the Spaniards. Inside, native workmen
were frescoing the main hall after a quaint Indian
fashion, with warriors in battle array, and the ancient
deities of the nations ; the effect being singularly pleas-
ing. I wish more of the early life of the country might
be embodied in modern decoration. Innumerable charm-
ing legends afford themes for series of wall-panels, that
would make a theater or other public edifice wonderfully
interesting.
Tower ami cypress-trees
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 251
Tlaxcala's plaza is large and shaded by magnificent
trees, with a profusion of the shrub known as huele de
noche, which, as the name suggests, is fragrant at night.
It bears fine, white flowers, and either by special dis-
pensation, or on account of the rain which was already
falling, it filled the air, though it was barely midday,
with a strong, sweet aroma like magnolias. The parterres
were all outlined by borders of black and white peb-
bles, worked into ornamental designs, both Grecian and
Indian figures appearing. The walks were well kept,
and the whole town impressed me as clean.
The first church w^e entered was that of the old con-
vent of San Francisco. The ancient pile, largely in ruins,
is on a low hill a little above the town. The buildings
may well be called antiquisimos, as they were constructed
shortly after the conquest, on the site of an Indian
temple. Some of the walls of this temple still survive.
An immense gateway leads into the convent inclosure.
The bell tower stands alone, separated from the build-
ings, and some ominous crevices in the masonry suggest
a general collapse at no distant day. A portion of the
convent now serves as a ciiartel and prison ; but the
church is preserved, being sustained by private subscrip-
tion. The altars are very rich, though the carving is
not so fine as in many of the old churches, and the
paintings are dim with age and extremely interesting.
I was impressed by the first one at the left on enter-
ing. It is entitled " Nuestra Senora de la Antigua."
The Virgin and Child are in dark blue robes, covered
with a small design in gold. The Virgin, whose face
is very beautiful and dignified, holds a lily in her right
hand ; and two angels support a crown above her. In
one of the chapels is the figure of the good San Benito
de Palermo, ebony black and richly adorned. And this
252 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
reminds me that in some of the oldest, most isolated
temples, I have seen images of the Christ, which if not
black, were nearly so. A dark nut-brown comes nearer
the color, perhaps. I remember one most remarkable,
that had long black hair that hung below the middle of
the figure. The most precious relics in San Francisco,
however, are the first pulpit from which the Christian
religion was preached in Mexico, and the font at which
the four governors of the Indian republic were bap-
tized. Both pulpit and font are of stone. Above the
latter is a tablet, with the following inscription :
"En esta fuente rccihicron la fe Catolica los cuatro
senadores de la antigua Repuhlica de Tlaxcala. El acto
rcligioso tuvo liigar el afio 1520, siendo ministro Don
Juan Diaz, Capellan del ejercito conquistador; y padri-
nos, el capitan, Don Hernan Cortes y sus distinguidos
oficiales, Don Pedro de Alvarado, Don Andres de Tapia,
Don Gonsalo de Sandoval, y Don Cristobal de Olid.
"A Maxixcatdn, se le did el nombre de Lorenzo, y a
Xicolitencatl se le did el nombre de Vicente, y a Cla-
huzioloclii el de Gonzalo, y a Ziclapopocal el de Barto-
lome."
" At this font received the Catholic faith the four
senators of the ancient Tlaxcalan republic. The reli-
gious act took place the year 1520, the minister being
Don Juan Diaz, chaplain of the conquering army, and the
god-fathers, the captain, Don Hernan Cortes and his
distinguished officers, Don Pedro de Alvarado, Don
Andres de Tapia, Don Gonzalo de Sandoval, and Don
Cristobal de Olid.
" To Maxixcatzin was given the name Lorenzo, and to
Xicohtencatl was given the name Vincente, and to
THE MAN WHO LIKES ^lEXICO 253
Clahuziolochi that of Gonzalo, and to Ziclapopocal that
of Bartolome."
There seems a great difference in the spelHng of
Indian names by various writers. These are copied as
they are inscribed on the tablet.
Before leaving this old church of San Francisco, I
must speak of the wonderful arrangement of cedar cross-
beams or girders, fashioned in a most beautiful and
decorative way, and resisting the wear of more than
three centuries.
From San Francisco, we went directly to the palace.
We were conducted through a long suite of apartments
and came finally to a handsomely furnished salon, which
the Governor entered to receive us. Colonel Prospero
Cahuantzi, Governor of Tlaxcala, claimed with pride
that he was a direct descendant of the brave Tlaxcalteca
race. Despite the fact that his sixty-seventh birthday
was close at hand, he was apparently in the prime of
life, showing the old time virility of his people. Fie
gave us a cordial welcome, and my friend at once told
him who we were, and what the object of our visit. At
first the Governor spoke rather deprecatingly of Tlaxcala,
saying it was little more than a rancho; but on finding
that we were interested in the state and its history, he
talked delightfully about it. His memory was remark-
able and he had historical dates at his fingers' ends. He
indicated where the ancient city had stood, and assured
us that a portion of San Francisco's walls was really
that of a Tlaxcalan temple. In connection with the
first baptismal rites, he said that Otila, the daughter of
Maxixcatzin, was actually baptized before the chiefs.
This maiden had for a lover none other than the noble
Cuauhtemoc. As Governor Cahuantzi expressed it, she
was *' Cuauhtemoc's novia." She was beautiful, and the
254 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
ardent young Velasquez de Leon fell in love with her at
sight. " Neither knew a single word of the language of
the other," said the governor, " nevertheless he began
making her flowery speeches." The damsel's heart was
won by the gallant young ofificer, and the latter lost no
time in requesting Padre Olmeda to marry them.
" But, my son," said the padre, " it is impossible !
You and this girl are of different races : you have not
the same language : she is not even a Christian. Im-
possible ! "
" Baptize her then and make her one ! " said the fiery
Velasquez de Leon. " Marry her I will ! "
The idea of baptism was not unpleasant to the padre.
Cortes was consulted and readily acceded. The troops
were called out, there was a grand parade with martial
salutes and music, and Otila was received into the Chris-
tian church with the new name Estefania, and sealed to
Velasquez de Leon as his lawful wife.
Now comes the tragedy. On the Noche Triste, during
that awful fight on the causeway of Tacuba, Cuauhtemoc,
the betrayed lover, killed Velasquez de Leon with his
own hand.
Governor Cahuantzi spoke fluently of the ancient
language of Tlaxcala, which was the Mexicana. At a
recent celebration of the anniversary of Cuauhtemoc, he
delivered an address in the Mexican tongue. We had a
very interesting half hour, and then bade him good-by
reluctantly.
We had dinner at the restaurant under the portales
with a small, active boy for waiter. Dinner over, we set
out on a pilgrimage to el Santuario, whose towers we
saw in approaching the town, and which stands on the
hill above it. It is a beautiful church, snow white, with
extremely graceful towers and ornate facade. I was
Ixtacalco
Churchyard gateway
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 257
disappointed to find the base of the ornament only was
stone, with an application of something like staff to
finish it. The image of the Virgin at the main altar is
said to be very miraculous and the sacristy is lined with
a series of elaborate paintings that impressed me
slightly. We heard, later, that the best pictures were
in another chapel, which we did not know existed, it be-
ing directly behind the main altar.
Tlaxcala has a museum, with a fine collection of idols
and ancient relics of the Christian church. Among the
latter are some splendid old chairs and vestments heavy
with gold embroidery. An interesting exhibit are bow
and arrows, with flint tips, said to be originals. We
spent the rainy afternoon at the museum, and bade fare-
well to Tlaxcala in that gloomy half-light, well suited to
conjuring up phantom cities and armies. I had satu-
rated myself with Tlaxcalan history ; the little town it-
self (it has only about three thousand souls) bore the
stamp of antiquity, and on the long dark ride to the
railroad, the deeds of the old conquerors and their allies,
los Tlaxcaltecas, seemed very real and near.
CHAPTER X
The Fiesta of Covadonga : Gaiety of the Spaniard: His
Mexican Cousin Helps Him Celebrate: Epifanio's Tip: His
Version of the Spanish Conquest: The Eve of Mexican In-
dependence : Quaint Folk Songs : Dancing in the Streets :
Viva Mexico.
o
N my arrival in Mexico City I was pleased to
find there my young friend, Rafael de la G ,
who had just returned from taking his post-
graduate in Columbia University. I had always found
his conversation interesting; and now he came, eager
to tell me his impressions of my country, while I too
had many pleasant things to relate about my life in
Mexico. I also told him of my resolve to shortly under-
take the journey into the Durango mountains to rejoin
my friends in the mines. He heard my plans with the
attentiveness that I always remarked in my Mexican
friends; and while he sympathized with my state of
mind, he advised me to remain a few weeks longer in the
capital, if only to attend the Fiesta of Covadonga, which
is annually celebrated by the Spanish Colony, and is es-
sentially Spanish in character. To this proposal I gladly
assented. The Spaniards in Mexico interested me ex-
ceedingly, although until now I had been impressed solely
by their indefatigability in work and in business. Rafael
assured me that the Spaniards entered into this Cova-
donga celebration, the only one they permitted themselves
in a foreign land, with the same prodigious energy that
characterized their business ; and that it was the one
258
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 259
opportunity I should find in Mexico to appreciate the
Spanish character. Further, he placed himself at my
disposal on the day of the fiesta, promising to meet me
in the early forenoon, and to see that I missed nothing
from the beginning of the celebration.
The Fiesta of Covadonga fell early the following
week. Rafael and I met, as agreed, and proceeded to
the old church of Santo Domingo, in the plaza of that
name, where it is believed the Aztecs first saw the prom-
ised sign of the eagle perched on the cactus, with the
serpent in his talons. The church was richly hung with
red and gold. High mass was celebrated, and for the
first time I heard the Spanish national air. From Santo
Domingo, we went direct to the Tivoli Eliseo.
I had attended other fiestas at the Tivoli Eliseo, occa-
sions of discreet gaiety. People wore their best clothes,
promenaded, showered each other with confetti, and
waltzed a little in the pavilion. It was pretty but tire-
some. Confetti-throwing is charming in theory but
quite inane as a diversion. I had feared that sponta-
neous mirth, free and unrestrained, was over, at least
where " grown-ups " were concerned. Then kind fate
sent me to the Fiesta of Covadonga. There was little
confetti-throwing. The Spaniard had come to dance.
He had worked early and late for three hundred and
sixty-four days, busily gathering pesetas in his adopted
country. It may be doubted if he thought much of
Espana, Early rising and the rush of trade are not
conducive to reminiscence. But on the three hundred
and sixty-fifth day he closes his shop and attends high
mass at Santo Domingo. Then he puts on his rakish
hoina, takes a cup of cider with his cronies, and proceeds
to dance with a gusto that is a revelation. I have always
heard that the Spaniards and Irish are related. No
13
26o THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
other people, except the sons of Erin, possess such an
irrepressible flow of spirits. Indeed I saw many a smil-
ing, good-natured face that might have hailed from the
Emerald Isle. The favorite dance was the jota, per-
formed by a lad and his novia or by two men, to the
time of a quick waltz, and accompanied by castanets or
the snapping of fingers. There was an abundance of
music but even music was not indispensable. If a young
Gachiipin (Spaniard) and his chum felt like dancing
between the numbers, they snapped their fingers merrily,
and danced, without music. They seemed totally in-
dififerent to observation. They danced because they
enjoyed it and there was an end of it.
There were three military bands, several orchestras of
stringed instruments and innumerable pipes, drums,
mandolins and guitars. The local Mexican bands each
formed a circle, with the maestro in the center sur-
rounded by dancers. Among them was the famous
" Artilleria," which has won fame in the United States.
This band had just finished a piece^' and the breathless
dancers were rapturously shouting for " otra," (an-
other). In response they played a delightful waltz com-
posed by one of their own number, with a refrain sung
by the musicians :
Viva Espana valcrosa,
Cuna de grandes proezas!
Viva Andalucia famosa,
For siis valiciites bellezas!
Long live brave Spain,
Cradle of heroic deeds!
And Andalucia, —
Famed for her valorous beauty!
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 261
Then the players shouted, " Ole ! Viva Espana ! " The
dancers responded " Viva ! Ole con Ole ! " and danced
more furiously. In the ring a charming child of nine
or ten years danced with a boy somewhat older. There
were several couples of young men and one who played
a pandcrete or tambourine, with more skill than I have
often seen on the minstrel stage, striking it with his
elbow, head and heels almost simultaneously. Then he
leaped into the midst of the circle and performed a wild
dance that I never saw equaled for skill and grace. The
lightest, most tireless dancers were the Aragonese. The
Basques were a good second, and perhaps quite as in-
defatigable as the first, but less graceful. The men
from different provinces could be distinguished by their
dialects, Gallegan, Basque, Andalucian, Catalan, — or by
some peculiarity of costume. All danced. One moment
a group would be in full fling to the music of the pipes ;
the next, a band had struck up an inspiring jota in some
other part of the grounds and they were off like a shot.
The head man picks a place and shouts, " Aqui bail-
amos!" (We dance here!). He faces his partner and
rattles his castanets. A space is cleared, and they are
at it again, with all their might. As a rule they danced
in couples, but one lad, who was the center of all eyes
wherever he went, danced alone. He had a bright, jolly
expression and wore a pongee blouse and dark blue boina.
The minute the music ceased in one place, he darted away
to another. I finally surprised him taking breath and
praised his dancing, asking where he haled from. He
replied from Asturia ; that he had been all over Spain
and Mexico and on the following day was off for los
Estados Unidos. Meantime he was celebrating his feast-
day having a good time. He was a handsome lad, not
over sixteen, with an engaging smile and a dash of reck-
262 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
lessness that betrayed the adventurous spirit of the
Spaniard. He was mopping his brow, when of a sudden
a band began playing. "La jota!" he shouted and
started off at a run. I did not see him again, but I
fancied he would not lack friends among the Americanos.
As I addressed a remark in Spanish to Rafael, a hoarse
voice close at my ear said, " All right ! " It was a
youthful Gachupin, who knew the Saxon twang, and was
anxious to exhibit his own efficiency in English. He
showed his delight at attracting my attention in a broad
yet rather sheepish grin that made me laugh too. It
was now growing dark and things were becoming
livelier. Strings of brilliant lanterns were festooned
from tree to tree and the white glare of the electric
light fell in patches throughout the garden. What is
there in the night that makes gaiety still gayer? It
seemed the revelers had been peculiarly fit from the
start; but now, if such a thing were possible, they be-
came fitter. Perhaps sidra helped out more or less. It
is a mildly fizzing beverage that I should call cham-
pagne-cider ; and much less heady than the old time New
England brew designated as " hard." Musicians and
dancers alike seemed to have got their second wind and
the scene became more and more animated. It was stir-
ring — contagious ! Here a couple danced beneath the
trees, first in light, then in shadow. There a merry
group whirled in the blaze of the arc-light. Now a crowd
of breathless lads appeared in search of a new field.
" Aqui bailamos ! " and they were at it again. Wild
applause came from the direction of the " banda de
Artilleria " and we hurried to see what was up. It was
the prettiest sight I had seen that day. A slip of a girl,
in a clinging dress of some shimmering material — elec-
tric blue, I should say — with a long sash of crimson, a
THE J^IAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 265
dark tam-o'-shanter tilted coquettishly over one ear, with
her hair blown in ringlets that kept getting into her
eyes and with a smile that got into the eyes of others,
was dancing the jota with her novio. All I can tell
about him is that he was dancing too. She was straight
and slender as a reed and much more graceful. Her face
was delicate and thoroughbred, with that alluring beauty,
sometimes called la hcute de Diable. Around her neck
was a long string of crystal beads that had the effect of
brilliants, wnth a tiny crimson fan dangling at the end.
Her little high-heeled shoes were just visible as she
danced. No w^onder we applauded and cried, " Otra."
The bandmaster made her a bow and a gallant speech.
She flashed him a dazzling smile and the next moment
he was back at his post with lifted baton. The music
began and we had the dance over again. Then the
novio led her away and the arc-light could not dissipate
the gloom that settled upon us. She was our bright,
particular star and we had lost her ! All else seemed
dross ! Until we saw the Sevillana ! She had the
classic profile, the dark tresses, the glorious eyes of the
Andalusian, and she wore the bewitching headdress of
creamy lace, fastened with a blood-red rose. She danced,
too, with a man. She made me think of the lines which
I quoted, however imperfectly, for Rafael : —
When you do dance —
I wish you a wave of the sea,
That you ever might do nothing but this. •
It is fortunate that it is permissible to admire openly
in Latin countries. If it were not, life in Mexico would
not be worth living.
There was one clique composed entirely of Andalusians,
and it was surrounded by an appreciative circle that
266 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
kept increasing, as the night wore on. There was a
man who played the guitar magnificently, a handsome
Gitana who sang the songs of Andalusia, and a second
man who also sang, in the strangest, wheezing, rasping
voice I ever heard, but as my friends expressed it con
mucha gracia. Of all the quaint, weird songs, these
were the quaintest and weirdest. In one, the man sang,
"The dead-cart just passed by — and there, above the
shroud, I saw a hand I knew." And the woman, sing-
ing to her man, " A life with thee is torture — Without
thee, 'tis not life ! " The people applauded rapturously.
The songs were half-crooned, half-whined in a complain-
ing, yet not unmusical tone, and brought a dim, evanes-
cent impression of ways of living and thinking, unknown
but fascinating. There was also a torero, who did a
grotesque dance, going through remarkable contortions
and making hideous grimaces. Taken in connection
with the melancholy music, the night, the gaunt shadows
cast by the trees and the circle of swarthy faces, the per-
formance was gruesome and made one wonder where
he really was. It created a burning desire to go to
Andalusia.
Moreno pintan a Crista:
Morena a la Magdaleiia:
Moreno es el bien que yo adoro :
Viva la gente viorena.
A man sang this verse, leaning against a tree and gaily
strumming a guitar. It was a tribute to the brunette
or swarthy type. The substance of his ditty was that
both Christ and the Magdalen were pictured as morenos
(brunes) : that it was the type he most adored, ending
with " Viva the brown people ! " Another refrain went :
" Morena — Morena — IMorena — tu quitas los rayos
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 269
del sol ! " In other words, beauteous " morena " dims
the rays of the sun.
All the beauty was not Andalusian. The eyes of the
Mexican women are luminous as the Spanish, languid
as the Oriental, with the added charm of tristeza, which,
wjiile purely hereditary and not indicative of character, is
always interesting. On this occasion, las Mexicanas and
their escorts contented themselves with promenading,
waltzing or watching the antics of their livelier Spanish
cousins, from the veranda of the casino. I presumed the
Mexican youth was saving his strength and his lungs for
" Viva Mexico ! " on the night of the wildly inspiring
" grito" (cry) of independence.
One of the funniest experiences of the night was a
talk with two members of the " Artilleria." At the close
of a number, one of the players turned to me of his own
accord, showed me the music, which contained the lines
to Espaiia and Andalusia, and told me the piece was
written by a young comrade. I construed it as a simple
act of Mexican politeness, which I had come to accept
as a matter of course; but I soon found that he knew
my country. Another bright chap joined us, telling me
they had played in Atlanta, St. Louis and Omaha and
preserved pleasant memories of all. They liked Ameri-
can ways, and American girls were superlatively beauti-
ful. The one failing of the latter seemed to be an
inordinate desire for gold buttons, and the younger lad,
who was a handsome fellow, said he should take an extra
gross on his next visit. I asked the boy if he knew
any English. After a modest disavowal, he finally ad-
mitted that sometimes, on bestowing buttons, he had
conversed a little. It was hard work to make him tell
what he said, but he finally imparted it in strictest con-
fidence, which I am basely betraying. It was " Miss,
270 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
give me one kiss, please?" with the rising inflection on
the " please."
As we strolled around for a last look at the Andalusian
clique, whose fascination there was no resisting, I met a
Mexican friend who exclaimed enthusiastically, " There
is a country-woman of yours who is most beautiful,"
raising his hand to his lips in the manner of the country.
He then took my arm and led me off to see her. When
we found her she was standing on a chair, a vision of
white, with a bunch of crimson roses at her throat,
her fair young face flushed with excitement, as she
looked on the strange scene. The funny bull-fighter
was dancing again. He had pulled his hair over his
eyes and put a handkerchief over his head, with his queer
little pigtail sticking out at the back. He danced in a
sitting position, with his body only a few inches above
the ground, screwing his naturally comical face into
contortions that convulsed his audience. At the close
of his performance he said coolly, " I am going to break-
fast," and took his departure. Rafael now asked if I
wished to go home and looking at my watch, I saw both
hands were at twelve. Even then we lingered : guitarras
were purring, mandolinas tinkling, castanuelas clicking
gaily, with the monotonous, unending sound of pipe and
drum, and the orchestras in full swing. On every side,
as far as we could see, were the trees bright with
colored lights, and the people dancing beneath them;
shouts of laughter, men's voices singing with the players,
and " Ole, con ole, con ole ! "
On our way home, I thanked Rafael for persuading
me to stay over for the fiesta, assuring him that I should
always remember it with satisfaction. He poHtely ac-
cepted my thanks, and added that he now hoped I would
defer my journey until after Mexico's great celebration
THE IMAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 271
on the sixteenth of September, which is the anniversary
of Mexican Independence. He said that it was indis-
pensable to a proper understanding of the Mexican
pubhc; and I reahzed that he was right, for the best
time to know an individual or a people is undeniably
the time of relaxation and pleasure. On inquiry I
learned that the celebration really began the night of
September fifteenth, when the President rang the historic
bell and gave the grito or cry of independence from the
balcony of the National Palace. After this, I was told,
there were music and fireworks and then people went
home. At the eleventh hour I was set right, where the
going home was concerned, by a mysterious communica-
tion commonly known as a " tip."
I got the tip straight from Epifanio. Our relations
had long been confidential, — in fact he was my secretario,
though no one knew this but him and me. For the
other boarders he was mozo, and general roustabout
They called him " Pifa " and " tu." I always addressed
him as Epifanio. We both felt that nicknames, as ap-
plied to a private secretary, were trifling and undignified
— little short of groserias. Epifanio was queer-looking.
He was short to begin with, and one leg was shorter than
the other. He had the Indian's brown skin and a shock
of hair like a doormat ; but his shrewd face and energetic
manner, above all his volubility, showed that he was
not all Indian. He first interested me by telling me re-
markable things about his home which is in the vi-
cinity of Zacatecas, and making invidious remarks about
la capital, which he said was ugly. According to
Epifanio, la capital and his tierra were not to be named
in the same day. If his accounts of the latter were
true, it is little short of paradise. If not, he deserves
the more credit for his inventive genius.
272 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
Epifanio asked me one clay, in a confidential undertone,
if I had ever heard of a man by the name of Hernan
Cortes. He said he was an " individual " who came in
a ship, quite a long time ago, and made war on the
Aztecs, Finding that I was deeply interested to hear
more, he proceeded to give me several verbatim con-
versations, which took place between Malinche (the
Indian's name for Cortes) and the Aztec king. I sug-
gested casually that I had heard the latter's name was
Cuauhtemoctzin. Epifanio said " may be," — but that he
was not sure, so we let the matter drop. The main
point was that Malinche made prisoners of the Indians,
and treated them cruelly.
Epifanio added with some pride that there had once
been a sort of play given in his tierra, depicting scenes
from the conquest, in which he had assumed the character
of Malinche, Naturally I wished to hear the verses, and
after some persuasion, Epifanio took his position in the
center of my room with a disreputable cap on the back
of his head, ragged shirt and trousers that seemed strug-
gling to part company, and wrecks of shoes, from which
protruded numerous soiled toes ; and in his decidedly
musical voice, accompanied by furtive whiffs of mescal,
recited a descriptive poem of the dream and vision of
the princess Papantzin, in which she saw the white chief
coming with his legions across the waters to take the
realm and crown of her brother Montezuma and make
him and his people the vassals of a strange king. The
recital was attended with many graceful and expressive
gestures, and much flourishing of a very greasy rag,
which Epifanio employed ostensibly for cleaning pur-
poses.
I expressed my appreciation of the performance in
feeling terms, and at dinner he smuggled me a double
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 275
portion of diilce in token of his esteem. That was the
beginning of our intimacy. It was cemented by my tak-
ing his photograph. He made the request one morning,
when he was looking more disreputable than usual, if
such a thing were possible. He said his wife and chil-
dren were still in the Zacatecas country, and he wished
to send them a portrait. This gave me an inspiration,
and, getting my kodak, I snapped him on the spot.
Epifanio objected strongly: he wanted to change his
attire, but I told him this preliminary shot was merely
for practice. He then disappeared, and after some time
presented himself in such gorgeous apparel, that I felt
sure even his wife would not recognize him. He made
a superb picture, however, and one was duly despatched
in care of a certain comadre who was returning to his
tierra. At the same time I have one taken au natural,
which Epifanio has never seen and which I am sure he
would not approve of. But to return to the tip. I re-
ceived it on the day of the grito (September fifteenth)
and this is what it was. Epifanio said the upper class
labored under the delusion that the fun ended with the
grito : that all that followed consisted in drunkards tramp-
ing and yelling through the street. He said that this was
all a mistake and added mysteriously that the actual
gaiety did n't begin until the strangers and sightseers had
gone home.
The more I thought of Epifanio's statement, the
greater became my curiosity. On this one night the
peones are said to have license to do practically as they
choose. They have certainly plenty to drink and alcohol
brings out the worst side of a people. I wanted to see
what that side was like. After one turn with a friend
on San Francisco street, which was truly pandemonium,
I went home and stayed until I felt satisfied the " gente
276 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
decente " had sought their houses. I then put on a thick
coat and salHed forth. I had always Hked Mexico's work-
ing classes, but what I saw from that time on till morn-
ing, " when the people were allowed to do as they
pleased," made me like them more than ever.
It was two o'clock and a street dance was under way
at the great arch at the head of Plateros. An obliging
organ-grinder furnished the music and when he was
tired the dancers took turns in grinding. Decent look-
ing lads of the pueblo were waltzing with buxom maids :
schoolboys with their arms about each other, were
whirling like tops, and small, dirty ragamuffins were
gliding, two and two, with a grace they must have im-
bibed with their mother's milk. Heaven alone knows
how or where those imps learned to waltz, but waltz
they did, with the swaying, undulating motion seen on
the zarzuela stage.
In front of the portales and cathedral and surround-
ing the plaza, were the street kitchens with their flaring
lights, surrounded by hungry revelers, attracted by
savory but greasy odors. The prudent bodies were al-
ready flocking like chickens to their sleeping-places under
the portales. There they huddled, five and six deep,
all along the line, in front of the shops. I asked a com-
fortable looking ranchero, who with me was watching
the small dancing dervishes, when and where the crea-
tures would sleep. " Sleep ! " he chuckled, " Daybreak
will find them dancing in the streets ! "
At this point, the ballroom was thrown into confusion
by the appearance of a big-headed man who rushed in
among the dancers and began delivering an oration.
The delighted crowd closed in on him yelling " Viva
Mexico ! " They swept him off his feet and lifted him on
their shoulders, where he kept on declaiming and wildly
Ai.rjKiacli Im I'a^co dc 1
■ la l\r|.,i nia, .\lc\i
. M(
Street kitchen?
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 279
waving hat and cane until gendarmes came running up
and rescued him from his excited admirers.
On with the dance ! The organ-grinder, who was try-
ing to make his escape, was promptly rounded up : some
one volunteered to grind and the ball proceeded. At
my side a disheveled but cheerful female was reminding
an older one how she danced a year ago. She com-
menced singing in a cracked voice and executed a few
steps of el jarabe. What a miracle ! A woman without
a partner contentedly watching the sport of others and
cheerful in remembering her own triumphs of last year !
Throughout the square the people were assembled in
groups, each with its cluster of star performers. Music
was always the attraction. Instruments and voices were
often out of tune : a fine drizzle was falling and when
there was an umbrella in the crowd it was held over the
performers : but the audience was a grateful one and
the singer seemed perfectly happy.
A man sat on a bench before the cathedral, strumming
a guitar for the entertainment of a small circle. Two
girls in black shawls came along unattended. They
stopped before the player and one asked, " Would you
like me to sing?" "Why not!" said the man. With-
out more ado she began singing, the man following her
with his guitar. A girl of the street ! Perhaps ! This
was what she sang:
Es el amor un sentimiento puro,
Que diviniza al alma y enoblece:
Es una Aor que nace y solo crece.
En el arbol feras del corazon,
El corazon es el jardin del alma;
Mas con llanto riega su recreo;
Cada lagrima ardiente es un deseo,
Que fecundisa este arbol del amor.
28o THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
Love is a passion pure,
That blesses, ennobles the sou! :
A flower that buds and blooms only
On the fruitful tree of the heart.
The heart is the garden of the soul,
Its blossoms are watered with tears :
Each passionate tear is a prayer,
That nurtures this tree of thy love.
On the plaza a crowd had gathered about a man who
played the guitar superbly. He was a full-blooded In-
dian in white cotton clothing and sandals, and a master
of his instrument — by far the best guitar player I had
heard in the republic. If a fine face and dignified
manner mean anything, the fellow had good blood in
him, though he was a peon. I had seen more than one
such in my wanderings, and I always said to myself,
" Ah ha ! here is a strain of Aztec blue-blood ! " It had
to go somewhere. It was not all spilled nor was it all
merged into that of the conquering race. At the con-
clusion of a weird melody, a fair-skinned young fellow
in eye-glasses, evidently a student, pushed his way
through the crowd and offered to sing. The Indian
bowed gravely and the lad struck at once into a gay
danza. He had a sweet, clear tenor and seemed to feel
sure of his accompanist. I doubt if the Indian had ever
heard the song before, yet he played it delightfully, wnth
that wonderful running melody in the bass, which is the
acme of good guitar playing. The crowd applauded
and an inebriated individual demanded, " Otra — otra ! "
" Take a seat," besought his female companion. The
individual, who was quite unsteady, sank into a seat
murmuring, " Music always enchants me ! " The lad,
gratified at his success, sang another and the Indian
played it as perfectly as the first. It was natural and
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 281
refreshing. The boy had a good voice and loved to sing,
the Indian played the guitar as few can and doubtless
knew it. The boy's face showed plainly his gratification
but the Indian made no sign.
It is interesting to note that Mexico's songs, even of
the pueblo, have almost always a pure, often a beautiful
sentiment. More, the people care quite as much for
the verse as for the music. The country people have
a sort of comic song called a ranchera, which is as popu-
lar there as are the negro songs in the North.
Four inebriates with their arms around each other,
leaned up against a fountain basin, empty bottles in
hand, and sang to a cross-looking female, who seemed
trying to get them to go home. At first I could n't
make out a word, but they liked the song, and no sooner
was it ended, than they started it over again. At last I
gathered the following:
' Marchita el alma, muerto el sentimiento,
Mustia la fas, helado el corazon;
Vagando siempre por camino incierto,
Sin la esperanza — sin la esperansa —
De alcanzar tn amor.
Yo qiiisc hablarte, y decirte mucho — mucho —
Y al intentarlo, mi labia enmudecio.
Nada te dije porque nada pude,
Plies era de otro ya — pues era de otro ya — tu
corazon.
Withered the soul — dead the sentiment —
Sad the face — frozen the heart —
Wandering always in uncertain paths,
Without the hope of gaining thy love,
I wished to speak with thee —
To tell thee much — much —
And in trying my lips were frozen :
I told thee nothing, for I could not.
It was another's already thy heart.
282 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
This was enough to melt any heart, but it seemed to
have an irritating effect otj the woman. Perhaps she
did n't care for music ! I was wondering which one of
the four was the possessor of her affections, when she
suddenly made a vicious grab for one of her wooers and
with a few vigorous cuffs, started him off ahead of her.
Evidently he was the lucky man. The others trailed
along in the rear, " wandering always in uncertain paths."
All this time it was drizzling intermittently, yet every
seat on the plaza was full. What impressed me was the
universal good nature. I saw but one fight. It was
between a coffee vender and a patron who paid a centavo
for a cup of coffee, and then tried to make away with
the cup. The owner called him a sinrcrgnenza (without
shame) and drew his knife, but his wife threw herself
into the breach exclaiming, "Que hacesf" ("What are
you doing?") and at this juncture the gendarmes ar-
rived and carried off the cup-grabber. At the corner,
however, they let him go, nor was this the only case of
leniency I witnessed. A decent-looking young peon
was arrested on the complaint of a girl of the middle
lower-class, who claimed he had robbed her of a neck-
lace of glass beads, breaking the string and snatching
them from behind. The peon swore he was innocent,
told where he worked, produced a huge key to prove
that he had a roof to sleep under and declared that his
wife was seated over there, under the portales, and that
it was not convenient to leave her alone in such a crowd.
I was for letting him go and I think the gendarme was ;
but the girl, while she did n't seem at all certain he was
the man, insisted on his being taken to the station.
" Bueno! " said the peon, and then performed a strategic
master-stroke that gained him his freedom. Taking off
his hat, he besought the girl to go and fetch his wife,
Xatiuiial jialace, Mexico City
Jockey Club, Mexico City, during tiower carnival
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 285
that he might give her the key to their tenement. His
accuser hesitated.
" Poor thing ! " said her companion. " Let ns go ! "
"Where?" asked the girl.
" Just there, under the portales," said the peon. With
a bewildered look the girl started on her hopeless quest,
prompted by sympathy for the luckless wife. The crowd
surged in between. The gendarme relaxed his hold a
bit, and his attention seemed drawn in another direction.
The next minute the peon was gone.
" I could not find her," said the girl, returning in dis-
gust. " W^here is that man ! "
" He escaped," said the gendarme.
At four A. M. it was still raining and the people were
still dancing. The streets were covered with sticky
slime an inch deep, but this did n't affect bare feet. The
latter suffered more or less from broken glass, however.
I saw a boy contentedly grinning at the dancers, while
he held up one foot from which had dripped a small
pool of blood. " A broken bottle, sefior ! " He seemed
quite indifferent and I concluded sympathy was not in
order. His complete disregard of the hurt struck me
as a species of mind-cure. Peones' feet must have re-
markably tough soles ! In the circle about the band-
stand another dance was under way, and the participants
were nearly all barefooted ; yet they danced furiously
on the uneven and quite rocky ground and every time
the organ-grinder tried to get away they surrounded
him and pleaded for " just one more." His music, like
all the rest, was a free contribution to the fiesta ; and it
showed a generous spirit in all those of his calling who
carried their heavy instruments from place to place, and
supplied dance-music free of charge.
I was still more impressed when a company of musi-
14
286 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
cians, members of a stringed orchestra returning from
a ball probably, stopped in crossing the plaza, tuned their
instruments as well as they could in the rain, and played
the bewitching music of " Los Cocineros " for their
offering. I imagine these bands gain a precarious
livelihood. The members of this one were thinly clad
for such weather and there was not a whole pair of shoes
among them. They could n't have felt much like play-
ing but they wanted to do their part. " Vivan los
musicos ! " shouted the crowd, " Otra ! Otra ! Vivan los
musicos ! "
At five o'clock the street kitchens were doing a thriv-
ing business. The more prosperous ones had canvas
awnings and were provided with tables and wooden
benches : but there were scores of Indian women out in
the open, crouching on the wet cobblestones, before
their small charcoal pots, cooking for clamorous multi-
tudes. Everything seemed to be frying and the damp
morning air was heavy with the fumes of sizzling fat.
Music was still in demand and every kitchen had one or
more obliging artists. Among them was a brawny
cargador, who whistled through his fingers like a steam
calliope, to the intense delight of a large audience. Most
of these people had not slept a wink, yet all were emi-
nently cheerful. A small proportion only showed the
effects of over-imbibing. We are apt to be more im-
pressed, however, by these, than by the masses of well-
behaved people. The morning broke gray and dismal,
and I began to have visions of a more comfortable place
than the Plaza Mayor. Many others seemed of the
same mind and were departing in groups to their homes
in the suburbs. Nearly all were singing. As I passed
the portales I took a last look at the sleeping multitude.
I am sure there was not room for even one more. A
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 287
few of the vivacious ones were exchanging cigarros and
gossip, but most of them were sleeping, some full-length
on the hard pavement, others in a sitting posture, with
their heads bowed between their knees, or with the
shoulder of a friend for a pillow ; the patient Mexican
pueblo, which had been granted license for twelve
hours, and took it out in singing, dancing and shouting,
" Viva Mexico ! "
CHAPTER XI
Anticipation: Pleasures of Mexico City: Second Visit to Du-
rango: Over the Mountains With Manuel: A Rainy Day:
The Voices of the Sea: Don Lucio : Snow, Sunshine and a
Camp under the Pines : A Lonely Maid : Manuel's Diplomacy :
Snow in the Mountains: Oranges Keep Cold: The Ideal
Camp.
I HAD communicated my plan to revisit the mines to
Don Alfredo and Doiia Marciana, and had received
from them a behest to rejoin them as soon as con-
venient, and an admonition to make the journey over the
Durango mountains before the beginning of the winter
rains. I had set my heart on passing the Christmas holi-
days at the mines; but it was still September, and with
the holiday prospect in view, I lingered on in Mexico,
enjoying the pleasures of the capital city.
November was already far advanced when I began to
take seriously Don Alfredo's admonition to cross the
mountains before the rains set in. I knew they were due
any time in December, and I decided to start at once.
I packed one of my horsehide trunks, wrote and posted
a few home letters, passed the last afternoon in leave-
takings, and in the early morning took train for Durango.
For me Durango will always be associated with the
charm of surprise. From it I had my first revelation as
to Mexico's cities. I learned then that it was one of
the most primitive, or rather conservative, of all the
cities. It was Semana Santa and the place was given
over to the accustomed rites, which were attended with
288
THE MAN WHO LUvES MEXICO 289
much more austerity than in the capital; the penitential
season being followed by a bull-fight, my first spectacle
of los toros. I don't rail against bull-fights. I know
centuries of custom are a powerful factor, not to be
treated lightly. I simply keep away from them. The
nearest approach to trouble I ever saw in the casa de
huespedes where I lived in Mexico, was the result of
my expressing my feelings on the subject, one day, when
there were about thirty young Mexicans, with a sprinkling
of Spaniards and Cubans in the dining-room. About
half of them sided with me and the battle waged hot
and heavy. They talked so fast, I could n't understand
a word and I was relieved when there was a slight lull,
resulting from lack of breath on the part of the com-
batants, and I was enabled to interpose a diversion in the
shape of a gringo blunder regarding the sport, which
raised a laugh.
When I was in Durango before, the beautiful plaza
was ablaze with yellow roses and the seats all filled, at
every hour in the day, with the people, mostly of the
working class. There were few foreigners in evidence.
Now I noticed a marked decrease in the peones and a
corresponding increase in foreigners. I even saw some
fair young country-women of mine sitting on the plaza
reading, and the sight gladdened my eyes. Durango
is the center of the mining district and the mine owners
congregate there, along with a miscellaneous assortment
of men who have been working in the mines and are
waiting to go out ; and of others who are seeking work
and are waiting to go in.
Durango is a busy place, although one would not think
so at first sight. The busy scenes are within the patios
of the immense supply houses, where mozos are busy
from morning till night, nailing and sewing up stores
290 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
for the various mining haciendas. Occasionally you will
see a freighter with anywhere from fifty to eighty pack-
mules, preparing for his long trip into the mountains.
After much tugging and cinching on the part of the men,
and much bucking and shying on the part of the mules,
each beast is finally loaded with a pack weighing from
eight to twelve arrobas (two hundred to three hvmdred
pounds) and the long train winds out of the city and
up the mountain, to begin a journey of two weeks or
more. Twice I had been there in April, and found it
ideal spring weather ; and now in these first December
days, the mornings and nights were like those of a sharp.
Northern fall, with a midday like Indian summer.
The men of Durango, particularly of the working
class, seem larger and of a more vigorous type than in
the Southern cities. There is much beauty among the
women, also of rather a distinctive order ; in fact one
could almost tell a Durango woman of the middle class,
from a certain similarity of expression and the slow but
musical, drawling accent. The cargadores who are
always most prominent among the workers of a city
are a brawny, stalwart set, eminently clean and decent
in appearance. They nearly all wear heavy blue overalls
and jumpers, with thick shoes and a shaggy, white felt
hat which seems their special badge. Indeed, all the
common people impressed me as a superior set, and a
young man, a native of the capital, remarked the same
thing in most forceful terms. In journeying towards
the north, I missed more and more the cry of the street
vender.
I made an early visit to my favorite Bafios de las
Canoas and had rather an extended talk with the owner,
who treated me as an old and valued customer. I asked
him if he was of Durango and he said he was not; but
THE ^lAN WHO LIKES AIEXICO 291
that he had lived there forty years and felt he might
reasonably claim it as his home. I asked him where
his tierra was and after some meditation, he said that
he grew up in San Luis, but that he was born at sea.
His father was bringing his young mother from Spain
and she died in giving him birth. This seemed to me
very sad and I said as much. He meditated again and
responded, " Well, yes," in a deprecatory tone, as though
it had never occurred to him in that light, \\dien he
first came to Durango the chaparral covered the spot
where the depot now stands. He approved of railroads
and prophesied that when the lines were completed there
would be an opening up of new mining proj)erties that
would astonish the natives. He assured me that Durango
was very ancient : that it began as a rancho, followed
by a hacienda and then the city : and that Torreon was
nothing more than a cluster of huts forty years before.
Durango's cathedral is over three centuries old. The
altars were originally of wood, but were renewed by the
wealthy mine-owner, Zambrano, who was once propri-
etor of the famous " Mina Candelaria," now the prop-
erty of a California company. Zambrano built a mag-
nificent house in Durango, w^hich is now a government
building, and a theater for his own entertainment. It
is said that on the occasion of a grand banquet and ball,
he caused the patio of his house to be entirely relaid
with silver bricks. The descendants of this mining prince
reside in Spain.
Crossing the plaza one evening, I encountered an unex-
pected treat in the form of a serenata, by a fine string
band. I was informed that it w^as a testimonial from
some enamored swain to his sweetheart, and as a number
of dark-eyed beauties were promenading, I speculated a
good deal as to which might be the favored one. Sev-
292 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
eral young caballeros were seated in the shade of a rose
arbor and I singled out one, who muffled his chin in
his cape with unusual mystery, as probably being the
lover. There was a fine band concert on Sunday night,
and the manner of the paseo was the same as in other
cities, the ladies walking together and the men in the
opposite direction. I saw many lovely faces and many
of the girls were without hats, though millinery was
also affected by the upper class.
I had a great deal on my mind while I was in Durango
— mountains in fact. Ever since I had looked on them,
towering in the distance, they had seemed to say,
" Come ! " Among innumerable other things had been
saddle horses, pack-mules and mozos. I presume I tried
every horse for sale, within a radius of twenty kilometers ;
and every one had something the matter. If his wind
was n't broken, he had a sore back, or was bad about
the head and would n't take the bit. As soon as I found
a horse that I felt a liking for, all the gentlemen at the
hotel, horsemen every one of them, began telling me
his bad points, and before they had finished I would n't
have had him for a gift. It is no fun at this season,
when the night winds are cold and snow may fall any
time, to be caught in the mountains with a leg-weary
horse, and have to dismount and drag him up the trail.
So I decided to take a mule. A mule may be joggy but
she always gets there. Manuel, my mozo, advised this
from the start, and now that I acted on his advice, he
was delighted. Manuel's chief anxiety seemed to relate
to the cocina (kitchen) as he called our box of provisions.
He suggested gordas and tamales, to which I acceded ;
and shortly after, he appeared with two women, each
laden with immense baskets, one of which was filled
with gordas and the other literally running over with
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 293
tamales. I tried one and found it good and Manuel
said when they were hot they were much better. I
asked him rather doubtfully if he thought we could eat
all the gordas, — they looked enough for a regiment, — but
Manuel said when he was on the trail, he could himself
eat an alnnid of corn a day. He was a sturdy, lusty
chap, light on his feet, and I fancied would be a good
hand to keep the fire going at night and look out for
the animals. He had a jolly face and I doubted not
could sing. I like a singing mozo. When you are riding
five days at a stretch with no other companion, it helps
out amazingly.
On the night before our departure I experienced that
sense of peace and contentment I had felt before, on the
eve of a mountain journey. Now but a few hours inter-
vened between me and the mountains, with their rugged
heights ; the dim woods and the silent places ; sleeping
under the stars by the camp-fire, and up and away at
the crack of dawn. Long I gazed on them from the
corridor of the hotel. A warm wind was blowing straight
from the hills, and I fancied it brought the smell of pine
woods and the chaparral. Manuel came to inquire at
what time we should start, and signified his readiness
to be on hand with the mules at 4 a. m. We compro-
mised on six o'clock. The one thing I did not like was
the sound of Manuel's feet on the stone floor of the
corridor, as he came to bring some oranges I had sent
him for. There was a halting, disconnected sort of
flap to his sandals that made me look to see what was
up ; and I found he was stepping high and putting his
feet down carefully, as though he were treading on
eggs. Besides there was a fixed glare in his eye, that
showed things had begun to go round, and that he found
his only safety in putting his gaze on one object and
294 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
holding it there. I told him to call me at five o'clock
sharp and that we would start at six ; and then sent him
away with some misgivings as to whether he would
show up at all or not ; hut at five o'clock, while it was
still pitch dark, there came a rap on my door and, " Here
I am, sehor ! " Manuel had slept off his slight indisposi-
tion and was ready for business. From that time to the
end of our journey he refused even a small capita, though
I knew he was often tired and cold. He always said,
" I don't know how to drink." I am convinced this was
true and that one social cup with a friend the last night
had gone to his feet.
When Manuel was roping the cargo on the mules I
saw him give a short, searching glance at the sky.
I noticed that it was rather leaden, but thought the sun
would remedy that. I got on my mule and Manuel came
and fixed the rosaderas, two long strips of bear-skin
which hung from the pommel, covering my legs and feet
and fastening back of the saddle. I felt like an infant
being tied into a perambulator and the things struck me
as absurd, but I was glad enough to have them ere the
day was over. Before we got outside the city, a light,
drizzling rain began falling; but I relied on the sunrise
to set all right. The morning broke, cold and dismal,
and the drizzle increased. Manuel said it would be worse
in the mountains. The weather was not without its
compensation, as the dampness brought out all the aro-
matic odors of grass and shrubs, making me breathe
longer and deeper than I had for months. This action
seems involuntary, as though the lungs had been craving
sweet, pure air and were greedy to get their fill of it.
As we turned a bend in the trail, we came upon a
young girl sitting on the ground, laughing at the top
of her voice; while a peon and an older woman were
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 295
busily picking up some loose corn they had evidently
upset. The girl called out, ** Adios, sehor ! " and then
"Where are you going?" I told her, at which she
shouted, " Won't you take me ? " " Yes ! Why not ?
Come on ! " I replied. At this she began screaming and
laughing again and I heard her long after she was out
of sight. By this time the drizzle had turned into a
cold, soaking rain which was directly in our faces. The
two women we had just passed were riding burros, and
with no covering save their thin, cotton dresses, and
pieces of white stuff that looked like coarse bagging.
The peon was on foot, and they were bound for La
Mina Trinidad, a good five days' journey, Manuel said.
As we crossed the first ridge, the rain and wind in-
creased and there came a dull, sullen roar from the
mountains. I looked at Manuel and asked what it was.
There was a scared look on his face as he answered
that it was the sea. He said it was muy malo (very
bad), that it meant bad weather, with much rain and
snow. It seemed incredible that it could really be the
roar of the ocean, so far inland; but I have no other
theory to offer, as it was neither thunder nor wind.
W^e heard it several times and it sounded dreary enough.
The only other human beings we saw were a peon and
his woman, the latter mounted on a little burro which
the peon was hurrying cityward ; and a woman driving
several animals loaded with firewood, which she had
undoubtedly cut herself, as the ax was lashed to one
of the cargoes. She was thinly clad and her bare feet
projected from her ragged shoes as she trudged along
in the storm. At two o'clock we reached the rancho,
San Jose, an ordinary ride of three hours which had
taken us seven ; and as the rain showed no sign of hold-
ing up, I decided to stay there for the night. There was
296 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
no other house we could possibly make and Don Lucio,
the caporal, kindly opened a room in the owner's cot-
tage, where I could be very comfortable. While Manuel
made a fire before the door and got dinner, Don Lucio
came in and sat with me. He was a short, fat, little
man, about fifty years old, in a leather charro suit and
a big hat. He had never been farther than the city
of Durango in his life ; and he combined the native dig-
nity and courtesy of his race with the simplicity of a child.
He inquired ingenuously if I had a traguito (a little
drink) and some cigarros ; and these being forthcoming,
he seated himself on my trunk and relapsed into mute
admiration for my various belongings, broken only when
something elicited a "Que bonito!" (How fine!) or a
"Que chistoso!" (How funny!) Don Lucio admired
my blankets, doted on my revolver and chuckled over
my woolen gloves, which he said were very big and hairy
like bear's paws. Don Lucio's delight was so spontane-
ous I did n't even trouble to say, " At your orders."
He did n't want my gloves, I had n't the least idea of
giving them to him, and I considered idle compliments
a waste of breath.
Don Lucio stayed to dinner and he also dropped around
for supper. After the latter feast, he braced himself,
cleared his throat and said he wished with my permis-
sion, to ask me something. I supposed it would be, at
the very least, a request for a donation of coffee, which,
in the mountains, is valued above almost any other
beverage, unless it be tequila. Now hear how I mis-
judged Don Lucio ! He gazed at me earnestly for a
moment and then asked if I had ever seen a people
called the Chinese. I said that I had. He eyed me
again as though making sure that I was telling him the
truth and then went on. He had heard there was an-
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 297
other people uglier still than the Chinese and black —
black, who wore little or no clothing and were bought
and sold like beasts, and he wanted to know if it was
true. I felt that I was on my honor and returned Don
Lucio's gaze as steadfastly as the occasion would permit,
as I replied that there was such a people, that they were
still bought and sold in some countries, and that in their
own tierra they wore no clothes at all. Don Lucio drew
his zarape about, him with an air of offended modesty
and asked if their tierra was near there. In vain I cast
about for some means of enlightening Don Lucio as to
the dark continent. I started to compare it with South
America, but found that would n't go. Then I told him
it was many times larger than Mexico but Don Lucio
only stared. At last I told him it was a big country
over the sea and we let it go at that.
When Don Lucio told me he had never seen the
President's portrait and asked me if he was fine looking,
I felt that my duty was plain. I had a portrait of Pres-
ident Diaz in my trunk, and I soon had the ropes untied
and Don Lucio was gazing in rapture on the face of
his President. He exclaimed, " How tall ! How pow-
erful ! " admired each individual medal on the front of
the General's uniform and added solemnly, " It is he
who commands everything." The chickens were going
to roost on the trees near the door and Don Lucio said,
" May you pass a good night ! " and retired, literally
too full for further utterance.
" Early to bed and early to rise " is a safe motto for
mountain travel. While Don Lucio was admiring the
photograph, Manuel had made my bed, which he an-
nounced was ready and requested me to He down say-
ing, " I will cover you up afterwards, seiior." I started
to draw off my boots but Manuel flew at me and had
298 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
them off in a jiffy. He then proceeded to cover me up
with two blankets and two zarapes each of which he
laid on separately, tucking them well about me. It was
quite different from having all put on together. Each
one seemed to strike some particular spot, where it was
most needed. Seeing him preparing to go to bed on
the floor at my feet, I asked him why he did n't take the
other cot; but he said he preferred the ground. I must
have slept an hour when I heard a hammering on the
door and a voice shouting, " Manuel ! Here I bring a
bed!" Manuel' only grunted. I managed to strike a
match, and in staggered Don Lucio, with a mattress,
sheets and pillows. The rain had stopped and the kind-
hearted fellow had brought me the best he had. I was
so heavy with sleep I began thanking him in English.
Of course I had to get up and have my bed made over.
I was quite reluctant at the time, but was glad enough be-
fore morning, as it grew very cold.
When I awoke it was four o'clock. Manuel had started
the fire and gone after the mules. It was still pitch dark
when he returned with them, gave them their corn and
commenced getting breakfast. Don Lucio soon ap-
peared and prophesied a good day, which was encourag-
ing. The animals were loaded up by the light from the
fire and with the first streaks of day, we were ready to
start. Don Lucio requested a mananita (morning
draught), and wished me felicidadcs as he drained the
cup, assuring me that in him I had a friend. This I
knew was so : that in future, whenever I passed that way,
Don Lucio was good for a roof and a bed. Of course
he expected some small favors in return, but they were
as nothing compared with benefits received. In fact, I
find the rule of the world is give and take ; and Don
Lucio's demands were modest ones. As he shook my
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 299
hand he said, " May God aid you in your journey," and
with this kindly farewell we rode away. It was nipping
cold, and I covild hear the mules' feet break the ice in
the little puddles that had formed in the trail. When
at last the sun rose, I saw everything coated with frost.
The tall, dry grass on either side of the trail seemed
tipped with red, blue and yellow diamonds : every tree
had a glittering mantle, and the blackened stumps were
set with brilliants. We were ascending the mountain,
and the valley back of us presented a beautiful sight.
The mist lay close to the earth, a deep, intense blue :
higher up, where the sun touched it, there was a bank
of white fleecy cloud ; and above that, the pine-clad
mountain. Half way up the mountain we came to a lit-
tle pool, close to the trail and quite frozen over. The
first mule broke the ice with her nose and all the animals
drank from the same hole. Gradually as the sun got
higher, I began shedding coats and sweater ; and by noon
it was delightfully warm. We stopped for dinner near
a little stream, and while Manuel was cooking I took
a snap-shot at him. He had tied a red handkerchief
over his head for the cold and had worn it all day.
Manuel took the kodak as a matter of course. He said
all the sefiores Americanos have mdquinas (machines)
and photograph their mozos cooking, walking and on
horseback. While talking about the various Americanos
he had traveled with, he cut a bad gash in his thumb with
a beef tin he was opening, but he only took a pinch of
earth and clapped it on the wound, refusing all offers to
have it tied up. When we started again and I made for
the trail, Manuel pointed off across the fields and gave
me a pah seco (dry tree) to steer for. On reaching it,
I saw the trail again ; he assured me we had saved a good
hour. Manuel was famous for short cuts and he con-
300 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
tinually left the beaten path for some special byway of
his own. He said he grew up " walking in the moun-
tains " and when I asked him how many times he had
crossed them, he said, " quien sabe ? " but he thought
more than a hundred. When he was with the freighters,
he wore sandals and walked all the way. But now that
he was mozo he had shoes, though his sandals were tied
on the back of his saddle; I presumed for the home
trip.
He told me of a very important mission he went on
once, when he was only fifteen years old. A rich man
in Durango sent him to Mazatlan, with a belt filled with
gold onzas: he did n't know how many, but it was heavy
and he got very tired of wearing it next his skin, night
and day. Besides he had miicho miedo (much fear).
He bought his tortillas and beans at the ranchos in the
daytime and took care to sleep in the open, where he was
quite alone. When people asked why he hurried so, he
said, " My father is dying in Mazatlan." He delivered
his charge in safety, was given important papers and
told to hurry back. He returned by another road and
when the people, still curious, asked, " Why so fast? " he
replied, " My father is dying in Durango."
We went into camp early the second night, after riding
about ten hours. Manuel said it was too cold to sleep on
the ground, and as we reached a rancho about sundown,
I thought best to stay there. There was plenty of water,
but no grazing for the animals, and I paid fifty cents
each for small bunches of hoja (dried corn stalks).
When I rode up to the hacienda, which was a forlorn
barracks of a place, a girl was in the corral feeding
chickens. I asked if I could have a room for the night
and at first she said no ; but finally pointed to a sort of
shed, which she said was very dirty, but was at my
•>«^
:; r
..^^^^-i^mrn.
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 303
disposal if I cared to sleep there. Manuel had the packs
off the animals at short order and began cleaning out
the shed. The girl came and looked on, and, though
shy, she could not seem to tear herself away from the
sound of human voices. It seemed unusual to find a
young girl quite alone in such a place; but her replies
to my inquiries were evasive. The caporal and serv-
ants of the rancho had their huts at some distance from
the main buildings ; and not one of them paid her the
slightest attention. I asked if she was not very lonely
and she said yes ; but that she was fond of animals and
that she amused herself during the day, caring for the
chickens and pigs; at night, a little girl from the serv-
ants' quarters came to stay with her, but she had not
seen her all day. Ouien sabe ! Perhaps she was sick.
I bought some eggs of her and gave her some tamales ;
and as she still hovered about our fire, asked her to eat
supper with us. She accepted with alacrity, saying she
had no fire herself; that the kitchen was full of pigs.
There were several new families of young pigs, it seemed,
and, fearing a storm, she had shut them all in the
kitchen. She immediately began helping Manuel get
supper, and fried the eggs in a deft fashion that made
him open his eyes. Manuel fried an egg all right on one
side; then he attempted to flap it over and the result
was a strange mess, between a scramble and an omelette.
She turned them as lightly as she would a feather, and
transferred them to my plate, not overdone, but just
right and good enough to eat. Then she brought from
the house some little fried corn cakes, like diminutive
doughnuts, which she warmed and presented to me. I
was sure they were all she had to eat on the rancho ex-
cept eggs. She refused to taste a morsel till I had
finished, but flitted about, bringing me hot coffee and
15
304 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
more corn cakes, and keeping up a constant prattle, like
a child who has been lonesome and is bubbling over with
delight at finding companions. At last she bade me
good night and promised to be up to help the mozo get
breakfast, and to bring more corn cakes. She was a
slip of a thing, certainly not over sixteen, untidy and
wretched looking, but with a bright, honest face, and a
kind, womanly heart.
The sky was clear and bright with stars, and I could
hear the mules munching their feed in the corral and
the blazing fire was pleasant ; but Manuel, who was wait-
ing to take my boots oflf, said, " It is time now to sleep,"
and I obeyed ! He had fixed one blanket to his satisfac-
tion and was putting on the second, when we heard wild
yells and the gallop of horses' feet. The next moment
there came a great banging on the door and a voice shout-
ing, " Open the door."
" I go immediately," answered Manuel, " I am occu-
pied at this moment." Then he put his finger to his lips
for me to remain silent, and went on tucking in the
blankets. The man kept on banging and yelling for ad-
mittance and Manuel kept saying, " Immediately, imme-
diately ! " At last he went and unbarred the door and
said, " Walk in." Thinking that he knew what he was
about, I adopted the role of the Gringo who does not
speak the language and lay staring fixedly at them. The
fire-light made the room as bright as day. There were
three men in the party, and the spokesman was quite
drunk ; but the others seemed steady enough.
" You come out," they said to Manuel, and, as he hesi-
tated they added, " You 're afraid."
" Not at all," said Manuel. " But I have no shoes on :
to tell you the truth, I was just going to bed."
"Who is your patron?" they asked.
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 305
" He is a sefior Americano and we are going to San
Dimas," answered Manuel, adding, " and he is very
tired. But walk in."
" No," said the men. " You put on your shoes and
come with us. We have plenty of mescal."
Then Manuel proved himself a diplomat of the first
order. Oh, that he were free to join them! He did
so like a paseo with good companions. But he was with
his patron and of course could not leave him. Some
other time he should be only too happy. These honeyed
words did their work. The bottle was passed and
Manuel apparently drank long and deep. Then he stood
in the piercing cold, in shirt and trousers only, bare-
footed and without a hat, bowing and saluting with true
Mexican grace, till they finally got into their saddles
and rode away. Manuel closed the door softly and
barred it with extra precaution. Then he began choking
and spitting on the floor. "How bad is this mescal!"
he said. Then he proceeded to muffle his head in his
blanket, and, leaving his feet to take care of themselves,
went to sleep without more ado.
I was awakened by a rat who was making his break-
fast off one of my boots. It was four o'clock and I
called Manuel. There was a thick fog and it was dark
as midnight. I always felt rather sorry for him when
he started off at this hour, it was so intensely cold ;
but he did n't seem to mind it. I awoke from a doze
and heard him calling, " Voy, sefior" (I go) as though
I had called him. It was the second time this had hap-
pened, and both times it had been at this dismal hour in
the early morning. Before, when I said I had not ad-
dressed him, he looked scared ; so this time I let it go
and asked if he had all the mules: as though Manuel
would come back without them all. He handled them
3o6 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
like kittens, with funny whistles and hissing noises which
they understood. We made a quick breakfast on tor-
tillas and coffee, as we had a long day's march ahead ;
and could barely distinguish the lines of the hacienda
buildings as we started off into a sea of fog. Soon it
began to grow light. We were ascending the mountains
again, and we left the mist below us in the valley like a
great inland sea. By nine o'clock we were reveling in
sunshine and the glories of Mexico's mountains, with
their lights and shadows, and endless vistas of blue-clad
heights beyond. On the loftier peaks there was snow,
and as we went up and up, it lay in patches by the trail,
till we crossed the summit, about 10,000 feet above sea
level, and dipped into another lovely valley. It was
eleven o'clock and I was ravenous ; so we stopped for
almuerzo, as Manuel calls it, by a little stream, whose
waters were clear as crystal and cold as melted ice, which
they really were. Manuel concocted a remarkable dish
of canned beef and breakfast bacon, which looked greasy
and uninteresting but had a fetching smell, and a seduc-
tive flavor. I found oranges and lemons invaluable on
this trip. They became ice-cold at night and retained the
cold through the heat of the day. With a bit of sugar
and a dash of tequila they made a delicious punch at mid-
day ; and at night, when the cold makes a fellow shake in
his boots, this same punch, boiled over the coals, is a fine
night-cap. The gordas and tamales were disappearing
slowly but surely. They seemed an impossible under-
taking, but one never knows how much he can eat till he
gets into the mountains.
Soon after midday we took the trail again. The only
human beings we saw that day were a woman and some
children at a little hut. I took a picture of them, but
could not get very near as they had already caught sight
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 307
of the black box and started to scamper away. There
was no rancho in sight at sundown, so we camped under
a big rock. I had a bed of pine boughs, and the pines
formed a roof overhead. Manuel was busy cooking:
he still had the red handkerchief over his head and was
whistling for the first time. He seemed to like the open
as well as I did. Ranchos are very well, but for real
luxury, give me a supper by the camp-fire, a piney couch,
and sound, sweep sleep beneath the stars.
CHAPTER XII
A Night at Hotel Japones : Fear of a Storm : An Early Start :
A Mountain Rancho: Mountain Hospitality: Recreant
Mules: Forlorn Indian Family: Charm of Mountain Travel:
The Last Descent : " El Capitan " : Manuel Sings as the
Journey Ends : Magnolias : A Meeting With Bob : Home
Again : The Holidays at the Mines : Serenade and Midnight
Mass : The First Wheelbarrow : Christmas Dinner : A Mex-
ican Ball : The Bandit Eracleo Bernal.
FROM the first rainy day, we had glorious
weather ; and Manuel said many times, " God
favors us in the weather, senor." The previous
night when I fell asleep it was bright starlight and the
moon was just coming up. I awoke at two o'clock to
find the sky overcast, and an ominous ring around the
moon. At this season, rain in the low country is apt
to mean snow in the mountains ; and then one who does
not know the trail is likely to go astray. The fire was
smoldering and as Manuel was sleeping heavily, I got
up and threw on a log, determining to let him sleep till
three o'clock. When the hour was up I called him.
He gave one glance at the sky and with a low " a Dios ! "
started off in search of the mules. Soon I heard them
come thudding along: he had hobbled them all, and
they hopped up to the fire and stood regarding it, like
large, sad-eyed rabbits. Manuel gave them their corn
and then began getting breakfast. In spite of the lower-
ing sky and the prospect of a long, hard ride, there was
a fascination in it all : the blazing fire, the towering rocks
308
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 309
and pine trees, the animals feeding, and Manuel brew-
ing a fragrant pot of coffee. Beyond the ring of fire-
ligiit, the dark forest, and probably not another soul
within a radius of fifty miles!
When at last the mules were ready there was no sign
of daylight. Manuel tied the two pack-animals together
and struck off into the darkness, leading the foremost
one. I brought up the rear, as I had not the faintest
idea where the trail lay. We turned for a last look at
our cheerful camp-fire and Manuel said, " Adios, Hotel
Japones." This was Manuel's little joke. I asked why
he called it the " Japanese Hotel ! " and he explained.
The night before when he was getting supper I sug-
gested that he cut the plain tamales in strips and fry
them in bacon fat, as they had become cold and soggy.
I could see that he did n't approve of my scheme, but it
proved a success ; the result being the equivalent of fried
corn mush. Manuel pronounced it mucho inuy hiieno
(very, very good), and ate a great deal of it. He now
informed me that los Chinos were excellent cooks ; and
that owing to our successful culinary achievements of last
night, he had christened the camp, " Japanese Hotel."
I started to explain to him that the Chinese did n't come
from Japan ; but at that moment the pack-mules went on
different sides of the same tree. The hind one reared
and broke away and I expected to see her bolt; but
Manuel said, " Sh-h-h Mula bonita " (Beautiful mule),
and she stood still. The damaged reata was repaired,
and on we went in the darkness, climbing steep hills,
descending hills that seemed steeper, crossing mesas and
fording streams. I was wondering how Alanuel could
know where he was going when the mystery was ex-
plained. He asked me if I thought we were going in
the right direction. I said I didn't know, but I pre-
3IO THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
sumed he knew the trail as well as I did the streets of
Durango. He replied that he did by day, but that now
he was relying entirely on his mule : that she knew the
way perfectly, and that he was not guiding her at all,
but letting her go as she wished. I asked if he thought
we were right, and he said he did not remember the
last hill; but that he could not be sure till daylight.
Then he told me something that had happened only a
short time before, showing how easy it is to get lost at
night. He was driving a number of pack-mules, and
stopped to fix one of the packs. Meantime the others
wandered from the trail to feed. When he finally got
them together, he was completely turned around, and
search as he might could not find the trail. At last he
unloaded his mules and hobbled them, built a fire, and
sat there until morning, when he discovered the trail,
within a few feet of where he was sitting.
It was so cold, we had to get off our animals and walk
to set the blood going and when the dawn came at last,
Manuel was still' uncertain. He said we should be on
the Guitarra Rancho and that when we saw mares
and colts we should know we were all right. I told him
when we saw them, he should have some tequila, and
at sight of a band of brood mares, I got out my flask.
" A long life and many boys ! " I said to Manuel, as I
swallowed a generous portion. Then I poured out some
for him and the toast evidently had pleased him. He
grinned and wished me happiness, and added that when
I was ready to make the return trip, if I would only send
him word he would come at once to fetch me. It did n't
occur to me until some time after that I should have
toasted Manuel's mule. At nine o'clock we arrived at the
hacienda of " La Guitarra " and stopped to salute the
seiiora, whom I had met on a previous journey. She
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 311
sent a young lad into the corral with two big earthern
mugs, and he came back with them foaming to the brim
with delicious milk ; he had milked into the mugs. They
told us we could barely make the Rancho San Miguel by
sundown, as there was lots of snow before us and the
going was bad. By this time the sun was shining and
my spirits rose. As we got up into the mountains we
found snow in abundance, and rode over it for several
hours. It averaged three inches on the trail, and in
many places it lay fully six inches deep. The mules were
not afraid of it, as they had seen it many times; but
we had to keep stopping to dig it out of their hoofs,
where it formed hard balls, making them slide and
stumble, and our progress was necessarily slow.
Alanuel said that once when he was with a pack train,
the snow was so deep they had to go ahead with shovels
and clear the trail. I snapped him with the pack-mules,
as they jogged along across the snowy plain ; and later
in a picturesque canon, where he actually shed his
zarape for the heat. This latter picture was really taken
for " El Capitan," my sturdy little mule, who would take
the lead in the early morning and keep it till nightfall,
never relaxing his gentle pace, till one of the pack-animals
attempted to pass him, when he would strike a jog trot,
and keep it up until he had distanced the presuming pack-
mule. When I asked ]\Ianuel what his name was, he
said he had no name, but they called him " El Capitan "
because he always led the pack-mules, and would never
resign his place at the head of the procession, " El
Capitan " was a pack-mule, when he worked at his
regular calling, carrying as high as eighteen arrobas (450
lbs.) so that his present job was a perfect sinecure.
We stopped for an early luncheon after riding seven
hours. We were just getting through, when we heard
312 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
the cries of arrieros (freighters), and a pack train came
in sight. The chief proved to be a friend of Manuel's.
As they shook hands the latter exclaimed, " Jose, man,
I bring thee good news. I saw thy father on Sunday :
he was well and hearty." In return for this bit of in-
telligence, Jose pitched in and helped him load the cargas.
He was a fine stalwart fellow, light enough for a Saxon,
with big, honest eyes, and a face tranquil as a child's,
utterly unmarked by the feverish struggle that stamps
the dwellers in cities. He was a buen muchacho (good
boy), Manuel said, and his pack-mules were a gift from
his Mexican master, as a reward for faithful service.
They shouted to each other, long after we had separated ;
and when the arriero's voice was scarcely audible, Manuel
still understood and answered back.
During the afternoon, the trail became more and more
precipitous, and the country was wildly picturesque. The
rock formations in this section are wonderfully grotesque,
and I believe unequaled anywhere on this continent, save
in Colorado. In fact, I imagine we have little scenery to
compare in grandeur with that of northern Durango,
except perhaps Colorado, Yellowstone Park and the
Yosemite. My first acquaintance with Mexico was in
this state, and as I journeyed southward, though the
scenery is very beautiful, I noticed a certain softness
of contour that seemed almost tame, after the rugged
mountains of Durango. On reaching one of the highest
summits, we saw far oflF, on the brow of another hill,
a lofty pile of rock that looked like the medieval castle
of some robber-baron, with frowning parapets and count-
less towers silhouetted against the red sky. Manuel
said it was " el Castillo de Chapultepec," where once
lived the king of the Indians. I asked if he had ever
heard of Cuauhtemoc, but he said he had not, and
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 313
asked who he was. Alas for the fame of the Aztec
emperor !
Just as the sun was disappearing, we entered on a
smooth tableland, where cattle were feeding, and knew
our ride was nearly over. The cattle in these mountains
have the finest, softest coats I have ever seen, a regular
fur in fact. Many are black and wdiite, and their colors
are literally snow and ebony. The cows are wild-eyed
and timid, quite different from the placid creatures we
are accustomed to. Their udders are extremely small
and they can seldom be milked without hobbling the
hind legs. It is a funny sight to see a wild-looking
ranchero, half-vaquero, half-bandit, with pistol at belt,
huge hat and jingling spurs, putting a rope on the hind
legs of a cow, and then holding the pail on one side,
while the woman milks from the other. I was revelling
in anticipation of fresh milk and cheese, when we came
in sight of the ranch-house.
The owners were two bachelor brothers, Don Bias
and Don Luis, both kindly, hospitable souls. The
former was away on a journey, but the latter gave us a
most hearty welcome. The house was presided over by
a sister, and there was a younger brother on a visit,
with his sick wife and large family of children. Don
Luis said the place was very lonely till the children
came and he called them " rayos del sol" (rays of the
sun). There was one rosy-cheeked youngster of five,
who was forever clinging to his hand, and I could see that
he and his uncle were great cronies. We had a delicious
supper and then went and sat near the huge bonfire
which Don Luis had built before the house. Soon I
was glad to seek the cot-bed in Don Luis's room, which
Manuel had made up with my blankets, and a little
pillow in snowy, embroidered cover, sent by the seiiora.
314 THE MAN WPIO LIKES MEXICO
Don Luis said there was plenty of snow ahead of us
in the mountains, and advised an early start, that we
might cross the last summit, which was frightfully cold
at night, and get into the valley before sundown.
I called Manuel at four o'clock the next morning and
told him to go for the animals. He said he was afraid of
a fierce dog who guarded the house at night ; so the
good Don Luis dressed hurriedly and went out to tie up
the dog. I was shaking with the cold in spite of my
two heavy blankets, overcoat and sweater, and was glad
enough to turn out and go to the fire which was soon
blazing in the yard. I found some coffee and tamales
and with the aid of Don Luis we soon had breakfast
under way. The rosy-cheeked boy insisted on being
dressed, and came and nestled under his uncle's great
cloak. That boy had a bit of everything going. We
were short of cofifee cups, and he and his uncle had one
between them : first the man took a sip and then the boy,
and the cup went back and forth from one to the other,
till it was time to fill it again.
It began to grow light and still no sign of Manuel.
The sun rose and the business of the day began, but
Manuel did not appear. Meantime I had ample op-
portunity to survey the premises. The house was the
most comfortable one I had seen since I left Durango,
with snug corral and outbuildings : and there was a tiny
chapel of adobe, with a quaint little wooden tower, and
a sweet-toned bell. Don Luis said he and his brothers
built it : the padre came at most, twice a year ; but it was
always open on Sundays and when visitors were there.
At half after eight, Manuel hove in sight, tjehind four
innocent-looking mules. In spite of the fact that they
were hobbled, they had managed to make a long distance
on the home trail, and he had tracked them many miles.
Manuel with pack mules on the snow. Altitude,
about 10,000 feet
El Capitan
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 317
before coming up with them. Of course I could not
blame Manuel; but I told him we would make a hearty
breakfast and take lunch in the saddle, not stopping till
we reached our destination.
While we were making ready to start, a forlorn In-
dian woman came to the house. She with her man and
child had been caught in the snow, with thin cotton
clothing and bare feet protected only by sandals. They
were endeavoring to cross the mountains when the storm
came, and had taken refuge in a cave near the rancho.
The woman had a frightened look, like a wild thing
caught in a trap ; and the half -starved child clinging to
her skirt was a pitiable little object.
It was nine o'clock when we took the trail, and soon
we were on the snow again. Traveling was slow work,
but I was determined not to spend the night on that
cold mountain, no matter what the hour of our arrival.
I knew the descent was hard and dangerous, but the moon
was nearly full, and I hoped it would light the trail.
Whatever the hardships of a ride in Durango's moun-
tains, the delights more than atone for them all. I can-
not describe the charm of those endless forests of pine,
of the wonderful glimpses at intervals from the trail,
of sun-bright valleys and distant, blue-veiled peaks, and
the dazzling green of the pines against the snow. It is
all too beautiful for words, and the most I can say is,
it bestows a strange, dreamy sort of happiness, with for-
getfulness of old troubles, disregard for what the future
may hold, and the full power to live for and enjoy the
present.
When we reached the last summit the sun was gone,
but the moon was bright overhead. Then began the steep
descent. " El Capitan " leaped, stumbled and slid in
almost a sitting position, but he never lost his head nor
3i8 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
his feet. He knew that trail Hke a bag of corn and he
was merely getting over it the easiest way. Manuel
kept close behind and said again and again to one or
the other of his pack-mules, " Mula bonita ! Vuelva a
trabajar!" (Beautiful mule! Return to your work!)
In some places, the trail was light; but in others where
the trees overhung, it was quite dark. I gave " El
Capitan " his head, feeling perfect confidence in his
ability to land me at the door of my good friend Don
Jesus, whose casa was still several thousand feet below.
As we went down and down, the air became soft and
languorous, and occasionally the wind brought the strong,
sweet odor of magnolias. Manuel began singing a plain-
tive air, in his soft Indian voice. It was the first time
he had sung and for the moment I was vexed with him.
As I have said before, I like a singing mozo. Then I
thought of the reason. He was a mere boy, not over
twenty-two at most, and all the responsibility of the trip,
not only of the mules and cargas, but of our lives as
well, had been upon him. No wonder he sang, now that
the end of his labor was in sight. So we rode on through
the sweet-scented air, Manuel still singing, till we en-
tered the little pueblo of Carboneros and stopped before
a white-walled cottage. Manuel called out, " Here is a
seiior ! " and the next moment Don Jesus was shaking me
by the hand. The supper table had just been laid in the
broad veranda, and Don Jesus said I had come in good
time. Soon we were seated and he was telling me of my
friends only six hours away; how they had sent mozos
for the last two days to the summit to look for me, and
they themselves had waited at his house until nightfall.
I felt tempted to ask for the loan of a fresh animal, and
push on to join them ; but it would be after midnight
when I arrived, there was an arroyo that had to be
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 319
crossed twenty times, and besides I felt a bit shaky
about the legs. It was the eve of Our Lady of Guada-
lupe. The main room had been arranged as a chapel,
with an altar and lights, and trimmed with evergreens.
The women were singing and their voices had a soothing
sound. But I went to my bed reluctantly. Such is the
unreasonableness of human nature, after two years'
absence, those few intervening hours that kept me from
my friends seemed interminable.
When I awoke the following morning, the sun was
streaming into my room. I had slept ten hours ; but I
felt it was no more than my due after averaging as many
in the saddle, for the past four successive days. Manuel
looked rather sheepish when I found him in the corral,
but I did n't say anything more severe than, " Andale ! "
(Hurry!) Soon we were on our way again, winding
down the mountain. The scene was beautiful, with the
note of industry supplied by a thriving mining locality.
Below us lay the little town of San Dimas, and on the
mountain side I could see the site of the famous Can-
delaria i\Iine which, since the early Spanish days, has
produced incalculable treasures. Bob, who had now
risen to the position of manager of the hacienda, met
me on the trail. He had come out to greet me, and as
we rode we recalled the events of our first meeting, of
our stay in Durango and the ride over the mountains.
Bob rode with me far beyond San Dimas, and then
turned back with the promise that we should meet on
Christmas. I spurred " El Capitan " across the arroyo,
and with Manuel following close behind, set out on my
last hour's ride to " La Puerta," where my friends
awaited me. The remaining distance was soon covered
and on rounding a bend in the arroyo I saw the quaint
old hacienda, with the little church, abandoned for cen-
320 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
tiiries, and now converted into a charming American
home. Don Alfredo and Dona Marciana awaited me at
its hospitable portals, — but why attempt to describe a
meeting with friends, than which I have experienced
no greater happiness. We talked late that night, and
dwelt long on those old days in the beautiful valley of
Huahuapan, before I left the camp.
Christmas was now close at hand, and the Americans
throughout the San Dimas mining district were preparing
to make it, as much as was possible, a home celebration.
In Mexico, as in all Catholic countries, the religious cele-
bration begins on Christmas eve, which is called Noche
Buena or "Good Night"; and it is then the country
people seek the towns and cities. The highway from
Mazatlan to the San Dimas mining district lies straight
up the canon of the Piaxtla River and the San Dimas
Arroyo. This is during the dry season, when the river
is low. In the rainy months, travelers must take the
road over the mountains, which means a journey of
nine days or more. The trip down the river is made in
from three to four days. " La Puerta," where I was
staying, is directly on the river ; and all day on the Sun-
day preceding Christmas we saw the people coming
from the pueblos farther down and from the mountain
ranchos to San Dimas, which is a good three hours' ride
above " La Puerta " and which is always the center of
festivities. The well-to-do man and his family were
on horseback; the seiioras and seiioritas in huge hats
and muffled to the eyes in white linen rebozos, to keep
out the heat. They were always accompanied by one or
more pack-animals with trunks; for there was to be a
ball on Christmas night, and the fair ones carried their
party dresses with them.
The peones and their families were on foot, and as
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 321
they had to ford the stream many times, often where
it was waist-deep, all were prepared for wading. Every
man carried a pack, and it was not infrequently sur-
mounted by a chubby child, who surveyed the sights
with round, wondering eyes, from the vantage-point on
its father's broad shoulders. The peones of this sec-
tion are nearly all mountain men, and a hardy, rugged
set. There are many bright, intelligent faces among
them, often distinctly European in cast. Like all peones,
they are trained to carry immense loads, either on their
backs or balanced on their heads. When iron wheel-
barrows were first introduced into Candelaria mine, in
place of the leather sack, in which the ore had always
been carried, a brawny peon was directed to fill a barrow,
and wheel it to the ore patio. He piled it high with rock,
eyed it dubiously for a moment, and then seizing it,
lifted it on his head, and trotted away with it. An-
other peon carried a Burley drill, weighing in the neigh-
borhood of six hundred pounds, from the hacienda to
the mine, over a very steep trail that is covered on
mule-back in about an hour. The hacienda boasts a
piano, probably the only one that side of Mazatlan,
which was carried all the way from the coast on the
shoulders of peones.
When we arrived at San Dimas on Christmas eve
we found it en fete ; that is the shops were closed, hand
organs were playing and nearly every peon had a bottle
of mescal. The men were given full license until Christ-
mas night, so long as there was no fighting. The worst
that could happen to an inebriate was being conveyed
to the jail and allowed to sleep it off, when he was at
once given his liberty with the privilege of getting drunk
all over again.
On Christmas eve a string band played on the plaza,
16
2,22 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
whicli is a wide street, one square in length, where the
people promenade. This place also serves as theater,
when a wandering operetta company comes to the town,
a stage being erected at one end and a canvas stretched
over the street for a roof. The audience bring their
own chairs and primitive comforts by no means interfere
with their enjoyment.
The band played till half-past eleven, when the bells
began ringing for midnight mass. We found the little
church full of people on their knees, and the altar boys
engaged in lighting the candles. The band had pre-
ceded us and was playing the rhass, which was sung by
men and boys, some with very good voices. I preferred
to remain outside, and v.-atch the dark forms gliding
from the shadow into the light that streamed from the
church door, sometimes to enter, again only to kneel
and cross themselves. Many were quite unsteady on their
legs, but there were few, who could walk, that did not
stumble at least to the door, before morning.
Christmas day was hot and all seemed inclined to save
themselves for the ball. The people kept up their fest-
tivities, as they knew that at ten o'clock that night their
holiday was over so far as carousing was concerned, and
they must all be in their homes. The creatures are
naturally such a mild, peaceful set, it is impossible not
to like them. The danger comes, when crazed with
mescal, a disgiisto arises, and out comes the ugly knife.
In San Dimas neither knives nor pistols are allowed,
hence casualties are reduced to a minimum.
At four o'clock there was a dinner at the hacienda
and eighteen people sat down at table. There were a
Mexican, a German, an Englishman, a Hungarian, and
Americans completed the party. It was hard to realize
we were five davs from the railroad, with such a varied
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 323
menu, and when the mince pie and fruit pudding ap-
peared it seemed a sure-enough Christmas dinner. At
six o'clock the ladies withdrew, and we organized an
impromptu quartette, and sang old-time songs till at
last they reappeared in simple, white muslin frocks. I
doubt if the most elaborate ball dress ever created a
more profound sensation. Imagine a typical mining
camp, with all its accompanying dust and grind, and
then set down in the midst a fair, winsome American
girl, in a fluffy, puffy, fleecy white gown.
The dance was given in the school-house. The floor
had been canvassed and the room was hung in trans-
parent red, white and green stuff. There were masses
of fragrant pine branches piled high in the corridor
and before the musicians, and before the cantina (bar).
There were lots of pretty Mexican girls and the music
was excellent. The favorite dances were waltz, polka,
schottische and the ^Mexican danza. The latter, which
is also known as the " love dance," is thoroughly char-
acteristic. The music is very soft and very slow. The
youth holds his partner, presumably his novia, as though
for a waltz, but the nearest approach to waltzing is a
slow, gliding walk, which they keep in unison, some-
times seeming scarcely to move ; meantime he gazes deep
into her dark eyes and whispers impassioned words in
her willing ear. The Alexican youths and maidens are
fond of the danza and usually prefer this dreamy walk-
around, to the livelier polka or schottische. Here the
likings of the two nations are in marked contrast. An
animated polka would strike up and the young ]\Iexicans
and their partners would begin slowly circling the room,
while the Americans took the center and danced the
glide polka. In some instances an American beguiled
his or her Mexican partner into the same rapid step,
324 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
but I saw one fair-haired Northern youth slowly un-
dulating in the danza with a senorita, and he seemed
to have mastered it in every phase, even to the look in
his eyes.
Refreshments were served throughout the evening and
aided greatly in keeping up the enthusiasm, for it was
a sultry night. At two o'clock the floor managers dis-
tributed little silken rosettes among the ladies, who were
requested to attach them to the coats of the gentlemen
with whom they desired the next dance. This was an
innovation that met with no special favor at the hands
of the sefioritas. All their training had accustomed
them to the very opposite course to anything in the way
of overtures to the other sex. One bright-eyed miss,
who had just returned from school where she learned
English, did summon up enough courage to beckon a
young American, and I distinctly heard her say, " Come
here ! " He lost no time in going. The other girls sat
calmly holding the favors ; and though the dance finally
began and many of the men eventually wore the ribbons,
they probably had to ask for them.
The party broke up at three o'clock, those who had
remained going home together, with the musicians in
advance playing las mananitas — which are pieces played
in the early morning after a party. On reaching the
plaza they stopped quite naturally and struck into a waltz,
and the music proved so alluring, we were beguiled into
one more turn on the smooth pavement. Then " buenas
noches " was said in earnest, the musicians playing until
the last couple was out of sight. This seems a very
pretty and complimentary custom but it goes even farther
in some of the smaller pueblos. In one where I was
staying a dance was given, and the young man who gave
it went with the players to fetch his novia. They were
In the \allc'\
Feeding the pack-mules
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 327
attended by the other young men of the pueblo, and then
they went to the house of each girl in succession, the
band playing all the time, until all were assembled, when
they proceeded to the place where the dance was given.
All the men carried pine torches and the sight was
picturesque in the extreme. The same form was ob-
served in seeing the girls home, but torches were no
longer needed, as it was broad daylight when the dance
ended.
San Dimas is one of the oldest mining towns in
Mexico. It lies in the bottom of a deep cafion and is
surrounded by mountains that tower over 4,000 feet
above it. The exit to the coast is along the Piaxtla
River. It has between twelve and fifteen hundred peo-
ple. The men are a race of miners, and there are
veterans among them who have worked in the " Can-
delaria " from boyhood. They occasionally try their
hand at something else, but always drift back to the
mine just as a sailor does to the sea. The barber, whose
acquaintance I made there, told me his father and all
his family had been miners ; and though his present
work is much easier, he still spoke rather regretfully of
la inina. He was a bright fellow, about forty years old,
and assured me he has never so much as left San Dimas :
has never seen a locomotive nor the sea. To those who
have traveled, such ignorance of the world is almost
incredible.
The ores in all the mines of San Dimas run high in
gold. The metal is shipped in bars to San Francisco,
where it is sold outright, an assay being made and the
gold and silver proportionately paid for, A bar weighs,
on an average, seventy-six pounds. Before refining,
it contains a proportion of baser metals; but there is
also a percentage of gold, that raises its value as high as
328 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
a thousand or even twelve hundred dollars. The bul-
lion is transported to Mazatlan on mules, one load seldom
being over three bars, as a quick trip is desirable. A
bullion train makes the trip to Mazatlan in from four to
five days. The freighters receive five dollars a bar for
carrying, and there is always return freight, at the rate
of $7.50 a load, which is three hundred pounds.
In the old days, when bandits were thicker than flies
in the summer, every bullion train was attended by a
guard of soldiers. The owner of La Candelaria, whom
every one addresses as " Colonel," told an amusing
story regarding a threatened raid of the notorious
Eracleo Bernal. This famous bandit had been com-
mitting depredations in the adjacent mountains, and San
Dimas was in dread of a visit. One day some of the
men employed at the hacienda came rushing in, their
eyes bulging with terror and said, " Eracleo is coming ! "
He had just crossed the summit, they declared, and was
sweeping down on the town, followed by his horsemen.
The Colonel armed his little force, stationed reliable men
on guard and then ascended a hill near by, hoping to get
an early view of the enemy. Far up on the trail he
saw a cloud of dust, but it did n't impress him as being
made by a body of horsemen. He watched it for a long
time and finally saw that it was a flock of sheep. The
Colonel chuckled but kept mum ; and the frightened
people continued in such a panic of apprehension that
even when they heard the bleating of the innocent in-
vaders, it was hard to convince them that Eracleo was
not at their heels.
The Colonel once came near meeting the bandit chief,
under circumstances which might have proved serious.
Finding it necessary to go to Mazatlan, at a time when
travel in Mexico was rather insecure, he quietly made his
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 329
preparations for the trip, and set out with a trusty
mozo, not telHng even him where they were going.
Secret as he was, though, the bandits got wind of it,
probably through a spy in camp, who warned them of
the departure. The Colonel, quite regardless of danger,
rode ahead of his mozo, and eventually missed the trail,
getting on the wrong side of the river. He discovered
his mistake, but determined to keep on, feeling sure he
should come out all right and that his mozo would re-
join him on the highway. He finally struck the trail and
reached a hacienda where he spent the night. The
mozo did not appear and he went on to Mazatlan with-
out him. He had been there several days and was much
perplexed to know what had become of the fellow, who
had always proved faithful, when one morning he ap-
peared. He was riding quietly along, he said, following
his patron, when he found himself surrounded by
bandits. This happened on that part of the trail the
Colonel had missed, when he crossed the river. On the
mozo insisting that his master had gone on ahead, the
bandits accused him of lying. They bound him, carried
■ him into the mountains and maltreated him severely,
trying to make him reveal his master's whereabouts ; but
becoming convinced at last that he knew no more about
it than they did, they let him go. This was doubtless a
sad disappointment to Eracleo, as the owner of Candelaria
mine would have been a rich prize, and the bandit leader
thought he had a handsome sum almost within his grasp.
This same Eracleo Bernal, who came to be the terror of
Durango mining camps, started life as a peon boy, in
the region of Basis and Huahuapan. The people of
the Huahuapan valley remembered him when, a tow-
headed boy, he carried the food to the men at work in
the Huahuapan mines.
CHAPTER Xin
Seeing the Mine: Testing a Tenderfoot: Open Cut to Lower
Level : Exploring Ancient Tunnels : Mysterious Voices :
Castles in Spain : Something About the Peon : The Com-
pany Store: El Diablo and the Talking Machine: IMarriage
an Expensive Luxury : The Peon's Fondness for Children :
Quaint Songs Heard in the Durango Hills: The Most In-
teresting Thing in the World.
THERE is an old saying about " small begin-
nings " that seems especially applicable to a
mine. The beginning of a mine is a 7' x 7'
hole in the ground. Its ending, however, is apt to be
bigger. It may be a loss, but it is sure to be big.
Often it ends in a fortune and the 7' x 7' opening leads
to a great underground world, with miles of tunnels,
shafts that seem destined to reach the earth's center,
and thousands of workmen, toiling night and day.
When I first visited a Mexican silver mine, I was amazed
at its unpretentious beginnings. A mine that was his-
torical, that had produced countless millions, — I could
not believe my eyes when I saw the insignificant 7' x 7'
aperture. That hole in the ground the entrance to
treasure-land? Before I had gotten over my surprise,
a train of ore cars, filled with ore and drawn by little
mules, issued from the tunnel, dumped the ore on the
patio and w^aited for us to get in. Then they galloped
into the mine, a peon running ahead with a lighted torch.
At intervals we passed cross-cuts, which presented end-
less vistas of lights. I heard the ceaseless rap-rap-rap
330
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 331
of the Burley drills and saw dusky forms gliding past,
either going to or returning from a shift. Presently we
met another train, with more metal, and still we kept
on. I concluded the unpretentious hole meant more
than at first appeared ; and before I saw daylight again,
I was sure of it. This was merely preliminary. The
next day, the foreman asked me to go down through the
mine with him, which meant to enter at the old works,
on top of the mountain, and come out of the main tunnel,
1,500 feet below. We rode our mules to the summit,
and turning them over to a mozo, went in at the great
open cut. This was where the ancients commenced
working the mine, running down on the ledge, and the
tremendous, cavern-like opening seemed a fitting ap-
proach to such a wonderful treasure house. It was only
in appearance though ; for while every ounce of ore had to
be carried up that steep ascent on men's backs, it is
hauled out by the ton in the mule cars from the com-
monplace tunnel below.
At first, the descent was made by regular ladders laid
against the perpendicular wall ; but these soon came to
an end, and I found myself climbing down what are
known in mining parlance as llavcs; a series of rounds
placed horizontally, one above the other, at intervals of
from two to three feet. They were slippery with mud
and slime, and I found it difficult to keep my footing.
We kept running into side issues in the way of cross-
cuts and upraises: and the foreman, who wanted to see
how they were looking, insisted on my seeing them too.
There was compensation in going down the Haves, be-
cause every step brought me nearer the main tunnel and
the mule cars ; but climbing into upraises was quite an-
other matter. We would haul ourselves up fifty or
sixty feet over slippery cross-bars, to where a little
332 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
bunch of naked miners were at work, drilling into the
hard rock. Sometimes we found them in good metal,
and the foreman was correspondingly cheerful. At
others, they were in waste and we left them hammering
away, without a word. Once I made a misstep, missed
the last rung of the ladder, and slid several feet in the
dark. The foreman seemed disturbed and said that in
three feet more I would have gone down an ore chute ;
but by this time I had given up hope of getting out alive,
and the manner of my taking ofif did n't matter. I after-
wards learned that this was one of the numerous chutes
for conducting ore to the lower tunnel, and that getting
into it meant a slide of i,ooo feet.
We did eventually reach the main tunnel, and I was
listening for the mule-car, when the foreman remarked
that of course I wanted to go down the shaft. Oh, yes, to
be sure! We got into an ore bucket, gripped a wire
cable, with bristling strands that stuck into my hands
like cactus spines, and were lowered 500 feet further
into the bowels of the earth. There were four levels,
and on each men were at work, taking out ore.
After looking over the lower level, the foreman rang a
bell, the bucket was lowered again and we were hauled
to the surface, just in time to catch the ore-train for
the outer world. On the way, I saw quite an elaborate
shrine in a niche in the tunnel. It was trimmed with
paper flowers and much tinsel, and had candles that were
kept burning night and day. When I finally alighted
on the patio, it was with sore hands and aching legs, but
with a great appetite, and best of all, the proud con-
sciousness that I had seen the mine. This I remarked
to the foreman. He looked at me pityingly and said :
" You might spend a week inside, and then not see it
all!"
THE MAN WHO UKES MEXICO 333
Going through a mine, in operation and peopled by
living beings, is not a circumstance to exploring one
long-abandoned, and given over to bats and snakes.
The noxious air seems devoid of oxygen, the bats circle
about your head in droves. You eye the rotting
chicken-ladders suspiciously, before trusting yourself to
their support, and wonder where you would land if one
gave way. The old Mexicans had the habit of running
on the vein and taking out all the metal in sight as they
came to it, only leaving pillars sufficient to keep the
mine from caving. Hence their old workings are veri-
table labyrinths and they seem to have adopted the very
hardest way for doing everything. If they ran down
fifty or sixty feet on a ledge and found it in good metal,
instead of running a tunnel in on that level, for getting
out the ore, they preferred to carry it on their backs, up
almost perpendicular ladders. I have explored a number
of old tunnels whose age can not be approximated.
They are fascinating and the chances of becoming a sort
of " Monte Cristo " more so : but I never realized how
much better the sunlight was than anything else in the
world, till I first saw it after six hours in the gloomy
depths of an old Mexican mine.
There are many pursuits connected with mining in
Mexico besides exploring old mines. For instance, there
is surveying. You go up on top of a mountain in the
broiling sun to run a few lines, and send a man to
hold the rod on a peak half a mile away. You have
previously arranged a code of signals: if you raise your
hand, he is to lift the target : if you lower it, he is to
drop the target, etc., etc. When he gets in position, you
look through the instrument and signal to raise. He
promptly begins to lower. You wave frantically and
yell yourself hoarse, but to no avail. You exhaust all
334 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
the profanity at your command, both in Ingles and
Castellano; but he keeps on doing exactly the opposite
to what you want him to. When you finally meet, you
are amazed to find that he is as mad as you are. The
sun was in his eyes, he could n't see your signals and
while he has n't heard your expletives, he has been doing
a little in the same line. Finally you both cool off and go
back to try it over.
Then there is assaying. You go to the mine, where
you are prospecting, and the head barratero meets you
with a glad eye. He says the men on the night shift
heard voices inside the hanging wall, and that the last
blast brought them into good metal. These supersti-
tions of the mining folk affect you mysteriously when
you are looking for a bonanza. You inspect the face
of the drift, and the barratero shakes his head wisely
and says " miiy rico! " (very rich !). You take numerous
samples and it certainly does look well — lots of lead
and bronze and a suspicion of gold. As you ride down
the mountain, you begin picking out the best place for
a tramway and speculate as to how big a smelter you
will put in. Then your thoughts drift further, and by
the time you reach camp, you have even spent (in your
mind) a portion of the wealth that seems a sure thing.
The sight of the assay furnace is a bit of a dampener.
There is no romance about an assay furnace. It melts
everything down alike and proves the " Survival of the
fittest " and " Gold must be tried by fire." You set to
work to prepare and make the assays. It is a long
process, but the last stage is finally reached, namely,
cupelling in the furnace oven. If that bead would only
stop at the size of a good, healthy pea ! But it keeps
reducing. Now it is only medium, and now — cara-
coles I it is reduced to a pin point. " Castles in Spain"
THE MAN WHO LIKES I^IEXICO 337
come to earth with a crash and incidentally tram-ways
and smelters. I have heard during the assaying process
even more violent expletives than " Caracoles ! " which
is Spanish for " snails ! "
The peones, in fact all the people who work in the
mines, interest me. A Mexican miner's life is not so
dreary as that of a worker in a Northern mine, a coal
mine for instance. The Mexican miner is indolent,
and no power on earth can make him work very hard.
He is by instinct a rover. He may be comfortably
housed, with fair pay and credit at the company store ;
but when the fever to wander is on him, nothing can
keep him from going. If the family owns a burro, the
household goods are loaded and away they go, over the
mountains. Usually, however, the man carries the pack,
with a small child seated on top, and the woman brings
up the rear, barefooted and with a babe in her arms.
This is the wandering Indian spirit, that will not be still,
but leads the peon again and again into the mountains,
and gixes him a taste of fresh air and sunshine.
I like the Mexican peon, lazy and tricky though he may
sometimes be. " His vices make up for his faults ! "
as the old woman said of an ingratiating and bad grand-
son. In reality the peon has many virtues that incline
me to overlook his failings. He is always respectful
and submissive, when not in his cups, and, for that mat-
ter, no man behaves any too well when drunk. Sun-
day is the peon's gala day. Then he puts on his snowy
cotton clothes, if he is lucky enough to possess a change,
throws his bright zarape over one shoulder, and goes to
the store for his week's rations. He buys like a lord
while there is a cent coming to him, or as long as the
company will trust him. Next to hats, his weakness is
for handkerchiefs. What he does with so many is a
338 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
mystery, but I consider his fondness for them a sign of
refinement, to which the lower classes in some lands are
strangers. Nor does he always buy red and yellow.
I have been surprised to see him select a pale pink or
delicate blue. Then he dumps into it his various pur-
chases, beans, sugar, cigarros, corn or onions, ties them
up snugly, and if he happens to think of something else
he needs, buys another handkerchief to put it in. At
the store he meets his friends and his slow and formal
way of greeting seems a survival of ancient Indian and
Spanish courtesy combined. He takes off his hat, shakes
hands, and makes many polite inquiries as to the health
of the family. He is generous to a fault; if he has still
a few cents coming to him, and his compaiicro, whose
credit is exhausted, wants cigarros, he cheerfully buys
them and has them charged on his own account. The
method of charging is unique. As few of the peons
know figures, a system of simple characters has been
adopted, that all understand. Each man has his pass
book, in which his purchases are entered by the store
clerks. A long straight mark means a real (twelve and
a half cents). A short one, half a real. A cipher stands
for one dollar and half a cipher for half a dollar.
Strangely enough the V and X are used to indicate five
and ten dollars. Thus the following OOIIIVX would
stand for $17.38, the consecutive order of the characters
not affecting their value.
At " La Puerta " no liquor was sold, but there was
plenty of music, and with music the peon is happy. At
times, he plaintively solicits " a few little drinks," but
when the graphophone begins playing " La Golondrina,"
he forgets his thirst. It is funny to see his amazed
look at hearing the voice of a man, singing or talk-
ing from the graphophone. Isidro, the foreman, was
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 339
a faithful fellow and a true friend — a little inclined to
take life easy, and with the vice of borrowing well-devel-
oped. One day, Don Alfredo, who was genuinely at-
tached to Isidro, talked into a blank record, saying in
effect that Isidro was very lazy and for that reason he
could not lend him money. When Isidro came again to
listen to the graphophone, it was playing a banjo piece
and his face was wreathed in smiles. The music ceased.
A gruff voice was talking: he heard his own name, he
was " im homhre muy flojo" (a man very lazy). His
eyes were big with fright and without waiting to hear
more, he fled in terror. I heard that some of the men
said el Diablo was inside the box, and I noticed they all
kept a safe distance.
In the San Dimas district the peon earns a dollar a
day. The barratero, or man with the bar or drill, gen-
erally works on contract, running the tunnel at a given
price per foot, and earns anywhere from five to twenty
or even thirty dollars a week, according to his ability, his
willingness to work, and the hardness of the rock he is
running through. He works with a compaiiero, one
holding the drill, while the other strikes ; and long before
you come up to him in the blackness of the mine, you
hear his monotonous sing-song chant, with the sledge
keeping rhythmic beat. He is stripped to the skin, with
nothing on save his breech-clout and sandals, and his
dark, sinewy form is dripping with sweat. You come to
a shaft, two or three hundred feet deep, and while you
are holding on to the wall for safety and looking down
the dizzy descent, a peon comes gliding along, with his
leather sack slung on his shoulder, and trips lightly down
the perilous chicken-ladder, as you would down a broad
and easy stairway. A chicken-ladder is the trunk of a
tree, with its branches lopped off, and notches cut in it
340 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
for steps. Peones prefer them to any other ladder.
They say the American ladders hurt their feet. A peon
will pick up a sack with a hundred and fifty pounds of
metal, put it on his back with the strap across his fore-
head, and walk up a hundred feet of chicken-ladders
without stopping to breathe. They are a slim, well put-
up set of fellows, every ounce bone and muscle.
For the morals of the peon, I must admit they are lax,
at least from our standpoint. With him, marriage was
formerly an expensive luxury not often indulged in ; but
it is becoming more frequent, now that it has been
placed within his reach at a nominal cost by the govern-
ment. I have been surprised to find aged couples, that
have lived their lives peacefully together and reared fam-
ilies, without ever having the legal or church ceremony
performed. The women are hard-working, grinding the
corn, patting out the tortillas, and doing their endless
washing, down on their knees beside some muddy stream.
Indeed, the peon is forced to take to himself a mate, in
order to get his cooking and washing done. There are
no boarding-houses for the Mexican peon, and the women
can seldom be prevailed upon to cook for any save their
own men. Indifferent though the peon is to the mar-
riage bond, he is inflexible on the matter of baptism ; and
will carry his infant for miles over the mountains that
it may receive the rites of the Church. If at any time
he and the mother wish to separate, he willingly provides
for the child, placing it with some of his own people.
It seems a sad state of affairs, but among these people
nothing is thought of it. A peon is not always as dull
as he looks. I had this illustrated in talking with one,
whose father and grandfather before him were born in
the mountains. I was curious to know his idea about the
first coming of the Spaniards, if indeed he had any such
Weighing the bead
1 tie beginning ot a mine
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 343
idea, of which I was not sure. He said they were very
cruel to the Indians and forced them to work in their
mines : that all they cared for was getting rich — " But,"
he added, " that is all the Americanos care for."
" That may be," I replied ; " but they pay you for your
labor, while the Spaniards made slaves of your people."
" It is true," he answered quick as a flash, " and for
that we drove them out."
I was deeply interested in the songs of the mountain
people. Doria Marciana's maid, Gumecinda, who had
a soft, pleasant voice and had often sung for us, pre-
sented me with two songs, which she had carefully
copied, with considerable labor I am sure. She was a
faithful soul, entirely devoted, to Dona Marciana, and
had left her own pueblo of Huahuapan, two days across
the mountains, together with all her kith and kin, to fol-
low her young mistress. So far as her own race was
concerned, she was among strangers. Her songs were
different from any I had heard. The opening lines of
one were the following:
Si supieras cuanto te amo
Fresca rosa, si supieras
Cuanto te amo Hor divina.
El consuelo de mi alma!
Didst thou but know how much I love thee
My fresh rose, — didst thou but know
How much I love thee, — flower divine, —
Consolation of my soul !
The other song has a wild note both in the words and
the music : it began : —
Dicen que por estos monies han de haber
Muchos tigres y leones a que cacar — •
17
344 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
" They say that in these mountains there should be
Many tigers, many lions for the chase."
It was the sort of a song I could listen to for hours
and made me think of one that always charmed me as a
youngster and went:
" We'll chase the antelope over the plain,
The lion's cub we'll bind with a chain."
I asked Gumecinda where she learned this song and
she said from a man in the mountains who was a great
hunter, who used to sing it when he was starting away
with his gun. He had the skins of various animals that
he had killed, and with these he would disguise himself,
so he could creep quite near his prey, whether deer or
moimtain-lion. She offered to teach me the song and I
accepted, but I had slight hope of catching all its weird
cadences. This same woman was once with us on a
camping trip and would sing for us at night, when we
sat about the fire. She always went and crouched by
her mistress's side, with her face in shadow, and there
she would sing by the hour ; the mysterious night sounds
in the forest lending a fit accompaniment to the low, mel-
ancholy voice. There was also a mozo with us who sang
well, and on the day we were to break camp I was awak-
ened long before daylight, to find him singing over the
fire. He was making coffee and crooning a sort of fare-
well song. The camp was in a beautiful spot, near a
ruined pueblo which had once been called " San Jose " ;
and I caught the words, " Adios, San Jose — Adios." I
think he made them up as he went along.
I like to hear these people sing, especially in the night.
At La Puerta they were passing all night long with
pack trains, through the road in the bed of the arroyo.
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 345
I could barely hear the rattle of the mules' feet on the
pebbles, above the sound of the water. One night, I
knew from this pattering sound a train was passing; and
then one of the arrieros began singing in a plaintive, mo-
notonous, yet musical voice, something about " una mujcr
ingrata " (ungrateful woman). He probably was not at
all sad, though his voice sounded so, and he liked the
song so well, he sang it over and over, and I was sorry
enough when he was out of hearing. I was almost
asleep, when I heard it again. The train was crossing a
ridge, a hundred yards below the hacienda, and the
strain floated back on the night wind: " Esa mujer ingrat-
ingrata."
If I were asked what interests me more than anything
else, truth would compel me to answer, " people." It
used to worry me, for I found it interfered with business.
In Mexico, when I tried to get interested in mining, I
would go to the mines, examine the ledge critically, pick
up a piece of rock and look wise. Before I knew it, I
would forget all about the mine and become interested
in the people ; the dark, silent men, hammering away
at the flinty wall or gliding along the tunnel, laden with
heavy sacks of ore. They were the nearest to beasts of
burden I had ever seen in the shape of human beings and
I wanted to know about them. Had their fathers ever
been slaves and did they know this? Were the fine,
Moorish faces that I frequently saw, a pure Indian type,
or were they due to a Spanish strain? How many had
Spanish blood anyway and what sort of people were
their ancestors, before the Spaniards came? Some
looked as though they had come from a line of cargadorcs
with their huge feet and heavy limbs ; while others were
as trim and slight as a thoroughbred. I have seen a peon
who could not write his name and never heard of Mex-
346 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
ico City, yet with a face and carriage that needed only the
pitiable adjunct of clothes and a little coaching, to make
him hold his own on Fifth Avenue, so far as looks are
concerned : and a girl, whose only shelter consisted of
four poles with a roof of brushwood, whose one ac-
complishment was grinding corn for tortillas, yet whose
delicate beauty, in the right setting, would start a city
raving about her. When I see such sights I can't help
wondering about them, nor about a hundred other things
that are none of my business. I used to wish I were dif-
ferent ; but I finally gave in to the inevitable. I can't
say I have been sorry and I have learned some things.
I have seen conditions that have made me realize what
a sad thing ignorance is ; and I have recognized noble
traits and sterling qualities in the midst of these same
conditions, that have made our vaunted civilization seem
a poor thing. The people that possess these traits I re-
member, and their portraits are in a gallery of my own
with others that I have collected through the years ; and
the gallery never seems to become filled. The people
are of all ranks and conditions, and of many different
races : still there never seems anything incongruous in
the way the portraits are hung. I think if I tried to de-
fine the quality they all possess and which, to a degree,
makes them fit company, one for another, I should call
it Truth.
I first saw Gumecinda in the little, isolated Indian
pueblo of Huahuapan where they had never laid eyes on
white people. No longer young, pure Indian in type,
she still possessed something, whether it was her manner,
her voice, her way of doing things, that made her differ-
ent from the others. She lived with her aunt, an old
witch of a thing, with an eye for trouble and an appetite
for mescal. Here a virtue crops out between the afore-
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 347
said eye and the mescal. The witch gave Gumecinda a
home because she was a relative. It would have been
just the same, had she been worthless and good-for-
nothing. " Blood is thicker than water." A relation
must be cared for while there is a zarape to sleep under
or a kernel of mais in the corn-bin. It is the way of the
country.
As it happened, Gumecinda was a much-prized mem-
ber of the household. No one could make such good
tamales, none such fine, snowy tortillas : no one could
wash the cotton clothing in the little stream till it looked
snow-white but Gumecinda. If a son or cousin had a sick
wife in the mountain, who must go to nurse her and the
little ones ? Gumecinda, of course. She would pack her
little bundle of herbs and remedies, muffle head and face
in the voluminous cotton toalle (mantle) and ride away
over the mountains, to stay till she was needed else-
where.
I remember the first time we went to the witch's house.
Gumecinda was seated on a mat, doing drawn-work. I
saw that she was barefooted and then — presto — she
had on shoes. How she did it I never understood.
She made us welcome without a sign of embarrassment.
She placed the one chair and a box for us to sit on,
and for want of another box, spread a mat on the door-
step, chatting easily with us all the time. Her voice
was low and musical, and if her speech was unlettered,
we at least did n't know it. She entertained us easily,
naturally, talking of things most likely to interest us. I
was amazed at first and then forgot my surprise and ac-
cepted it as a matter of course.
From that day, Gumecinda never changed. If we
wanted to hear the songs of the people, she sang for us.
If we wanted to see their dances, she hunted up a part-
348 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
ner, and with him went through the figures of the
jarabe, her good, plain face radiant with the dehght of
dancing, and the knowledge that she was pleasing others.
She was always ready to help in a hundred ways, cook-
ing, sewing, or in case of sickness ; yet she would never
accept a cent of money. Gifts, yes — if her good friends
wished, but not money. Unlettered, untaught, super-
stitious she was, like the rest of her people ; but with
an innate dignity and goodness, that shone through and
obliterated all else. Gumecinda's portrait is in the gal-
lery, and it is hung in a good light.
I can see Don Loreto now by just shutting my eyes.
He lived in a place that had once been the center of a
rich mining district; and his father, judging from the
extent of the ruined hacienda with its fine orange
orchard, must have been a man of no mean ability.
Don Loreto was the funniest little body I ever met.
The merest manikin in size, with small, regular features,
quite an imposing mustache and chin-whisker, the littlest
hands and feet, and short, fat legs, slightly bowed, that
could never, under any circumstances, do more than wad-
dle. Don Loreto spoke a little pigeon-English that he
had acquired as a boy, in the days when the hacienda
was in funds. When the weather permitted, he wore a
superb cloak lined with old-gold plush, faced with red;
and he would fling it over his shoulder with a telling
sweep of the arm, extend one small soiled paw in the
direction of the pueblo, and exclaim, " Oh, sir, you see
all those people — they were once my father's servants ! "
He invariably began with " Oh, sir ! " and ended with the
rising inflection. He would add, that his father was a
man, very powerful and much respected by his workmen.
" When he held up one stick, all men fall down ! " said
Don Loreto. I never understood what he meant, but
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 349
always pictured the pueblo reverentially " deferring,"
like the populace in the " Mikado " at the approach of
the Lord High Executioner.
Don Loreto once applied to a friend of mine for a posi-
tion ; he offered to look after his interests in a mining
prospect, which happened to be near his own
hacienda. He was engaged on the spot and on taking
his departure said in a high and rather theatrical voice:
" Oh, sir, when I am in that country, you will tell me
what I want ? " It was only a mistake of one word,
the substitution of " I " for " you," but together with
the high voice, the pompous manner, above all the funny
little man himself, it was excruciating.
I once went on a long journey with Don Loreto, and
passed the night at his mother's house. She was a dear
old lady and though I am sure she had received few,
if any, foreigners before, I was warmly welcomed and
showered with kind attentions. While on the road, Don
Loreto did his utmost to be entertaining, and he scorned
to speak any language but English. I was once riding
with him and he called my attention to some little red
berries, much like our " pigeon berries," as follows : —
" Oh, sir, do you see these little fru-its? These are too
kind, these are too beautiful? All the ladies, when
they see, will like to take a walk to pluck." Don Loreto
had an uncle Juan, who was " too brave " and a very
good shot. He was riding along with him one day,
chatting pleasantly, when he suddenly saw a huge animal,
coming down the mountain and making directly for
them. He called his uncle Juan's attention to it, who
said, "Oh, Loreto, that is one oso (bear). Excuse me
one moment ! I will kill it."
We got to know Don Loreto very well and to value
him accordingly. His motto was, " Always kind with
350 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
all people," and he lived up to it. He had a good-
for-nothing younger brother who seemed to embody the
not inconsiderable ability and likewise all the badness
of his line. He lived off the proceeds of the little man's
labors and was ungrateful besides. We often counseled
Don Loreto to set him adrift, but though he admitted
the justice of it, he never did it. He was a happy-go-
lucky soul, always looking for better days and eager as
a child for amusement. When Christmas arrived and
he heard of the doings in our tierra, with trees, stock-
ings and what not, he was enchanted. The stocking part
seemed especially to captivate him, and on Christmas
morning he was invited in to take eggnog, and then led to
the fireplace, where a long stocking hung, filled to the top,
for him. He was as tickled as a youngster, and for the
moment half inclined to believe in our strange santo.
He would not take out a thing, but trotted away as
fast as his fat legs would carry him, to open in the
privacy of his own home and in the presence of his
wife — his first Christmas stocking.
Years passed and though we often talked of Don
Loreto, we never saw him until one day he appeared at
the camp, riding a little podgy white mule, and attended
by the bad but quite imposing brother. It is needless
to say that Don Loreto was wined and dined and made
much of. When dinner was over, he leaned back com-
placently and turning to his hostess said, " Oh, misses,
we talk now of many things, but not of Christmas and
the stocking." It was all so natural, the high voice, the
rising inflection and all, that we laughed till we cried,
and Don Loreto laughed with us, a trifle mystified, but
delighted because we were. Then after many ahrazos
he mounted and rode away, the bad brother in the lead.
I can see him now, bumping along on his queer little
American niiiie-uwDL-rs
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THE MAN WHO Ln<:ES MEXICO 353
mule, his face hidden by the enormous sombrero, his
fat legs encased in very shiny leggings, and his gorgeous
cape blowing out behind, " always kind with all people."
I once knew a mozo whose name was Jesus, and I re-
fused to temporize by calling him either Juan or Jose.
Just pronounce it " Haysoos," with the accent on the last
syllable, and it will sound all right. Jesus was hotel
mozo, and I met him about two minutes after my arrival
when he brought my luggage upstairs, filled the water
pitcher, and complimented my foresight in taking a
room at the back of the house, with such a fine view.
The landlord came and begged me to have a room on
the street, with an interesting outlook on the white walls
of the house opposite, and at double the price; but I
politely refused to change and Jesus understood. I in-
quired if he took care of the rooms and learning that he
did, made a careful survey of him, to determine into
what sort of hands I and my belongings had fallen. I
find it a good way to make up my mind regarding
mozos on the start, and ever after be perfectly easy re-
garding my possessions, or else lock them up.
My summing up of Jesus was satisfactory, though he
was a decided innovation in types. His skin was swarthy
like an Indian's, but he had blue eyes, a shock of light
brown hair and a broad, jolly countenance. He was
short and stubby and his thick muscular legs seemed
to have been literally melted and poured into the tight
charro trousers. I speculated a good deal as to how he
got in and out of those trousers, for his feet were large
and substantial and did not look as though they would
go through. I learned, however, that at night he merely
lay down on the floor of the saguan and covered himself
with his zarape.
After deciding that Jesus was trustworthy, I con-
354 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
suited him as to the advisabihty of leaving my room open
at all times, for the entrance of sunlight, fresh air and
the greater convenience of us both. I remarked that I
liked it better so and that, of course, my things would be
perfectly safe. Jesus, who could not say a word with-
out acting it out, touched each eye with his forefinger,
swept the room at a glance and said, " Don't worry."
This understanding placed us at once on a confidential
footing; and Jesus constituted himself not only general
caretaker of my room, but master-of-the-wardrobe and
body-servant in the bargain : at times his attentions were
a bit overpowering. When I came in from riding he
flew at me and had my spurs off before I was out of
the saddle. He then followed me to my room, drew ofif
my boots, brought another pair and seemed positively
pained when I insisted on lacing them myself. If I
went to wash my hands, he stood by with pitcher in one
hand and towel in the other. This last performance
always struck me as ridiculous but I concluded he had
been valet for some luxurious and helpless individual
who had exacted it. I finally asked him whose servant
he had been, at which he informed me that he was a
carpenter by trade and had never been servant to any-
body. He had worked on the hotel, during its con-
struction, at a wage of fifty cents daily; and then had
stayed on as mozo, at " quien sabe que sueldo ! " (who
knows what pay!). This financial uncertainty didn't
seem to worry him a particle. In fact I 'm not sure that
it did n't add to his contentment. As to his marked ac-
complishments in the serving line, I concluded they must
be the result of his own genius.
I used to watch Jesus about his work, singing at the
top of his lungs, and tried to take lessons in the art of
being happy. I came to the conclusion that it consisted
THE MAN WHO LIKES AIEXICO 355
mainly in having few wants. Jesus had enough to eat
and a bed on the stone pavement in the zaguan. He
owned a fairly good hat, a fine pink shirt with red lac-
ings, a zarape and the irremovable trousers. What was
there to wish for?
I found that of all my possessions, he regarded my
camera with the greatest admiration ; and when I worked
with my pictures he hovered about me like a shadow.
He was specially pleased with a photograph of the church,
and as I found he was quite devout, I resolved to give
him one. I had several laid aside with other photo-
graphs, but when the day came to continue my journey
and I looked for them, there was not one to be found.
I searched high and low without success, and then sud-
denly my mind reverted to Jesus and his excessive
admiration for the pictures. I hated myself for har-
boring a suspicion of his honesty; and resolutely put
the thought away. Still I wondered about the pictures,
and at last caught myself endeavoring to condone the
offense, telling myself that the poor fellow knew no
better, and that in his fondness for the church he had
innocently appropriated one ; perhaps it was for his
novia. But there were several pictures and what could
he want with so many? At last I started to unpack my
trunk and make a last thorough search, and safely tucked
away, in a most improbable corner, were the pictures,
put there by my own hand in a fit of abstraction. I felt
small enough and when Jesus appeared, with his usually
beaming countenance a trifle serious, on account of my
departure, I felt tempted to beg his pardon. On second
thought I refrained, and presented him with several
packages of cigarettes. When he had corded up my
trunk for the second time that morning, he came and
stood by my chair and humbly asked if I would do him
356 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
the favor to give him a fotografia of the church, as a
remembrance. For reply, I handed him one of each
photograph I had made in his tierra. Then as he stood
radiant, expressing his gracias in the voluble way of
his people, somehow a portrait of Jesus found its way
into the gallery. I am glad it is there and the experi-
ence it recalls has taught me a lesson.
One night, while wandering at dusk, I found myself in
what we familiarly term a blind alley. I think the
Spanish word rinconada means the same thing. I was
turning to go back, when a girl began singing in a house
at the end of the street. Her voice was strong and pure,
and she sang as though her whole heart was in the
song : " Blanquisima paloma, consuelo de las almas — "
which means, " Whitest of doves, consolation of souls."
Then she stopped. I waited, wishing she would go on,
and presently she sang the same words over, with an
added line I did not understand, and then stopped again.
I judged that she was at her work, sewing likely, and
fancied her bending over it in the intervals. I was
thinking what a pity it was women's voices were never
heard in the churches, when she took up the song again,
and this time went through several phrases without
stopping. I waited a long time for more, but there
was not another note. People were passing back and
forth, entering and leaving other doors, but no one paid
the slightest attention to the mysterious house from
whence issued the lovely voice. I began to grow im-
patient and besides to feel an overwhelming desire to
see the singer. There was a bright light in the room
and the window was shaded by a half-curtain of coarse
white muslin. I was sure the voice was just back of
that curtain and I began to edge closer. All at once she
sang again, this time with deeper fervor, as though she
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 357
loved and believed the words, " Blanquisima paloma, con-
suelo de las almas — ." " Now," thought I, " she will
sing it all ; " but instead of waiting, content with the
song, I kept on till I reached the window. How she
knew I was there, I never understood. She was sewing
and she did not lift her eyes. She could not have seen
me in any event, as it was quite dark outside. Still I
knew, from the look that came over her face, she would
not sing any more. She was a girl of the middle class.
I shall not try to describe her, as I don't think such
descriptions ever amount to much. I know she had on
a black dress, that her face was pale but very beautiful,
and that she looked good. I stole away from the window
and waited for the song to go on ; but it never did, and
I finally walked away thoroughly vexed with myself for
not letting well enough alone, which nobody ever does.
CHAPTER XIV
A Mountain Flood : Swimming the Arroyo : Dangers of
Mountain Travel: Arrival of the Mail: The Life of Don
Bias : The Silent Horseman : A Night at " Pig Gulch " ;
Electrical Storm in the Mountains : A Dream City : It's a
Long Ride that has no End.
ALL the mining men in the San Dimas district
were longing for rain. The mills are run by
water-power ; and as the creeks were very low,
there was immediate prospect of shutting down for
lack of water, which means a daily loss of thousands of
dollars. It threatened to rain every night with the
usual warnings of heavy, black clouds and a ring around
the moon, which had a greenish-yellow look, but still
the rain held oflf. Every morning big clouds floated on
the horizon and the sun broke through with difficulty.
Sometimes there was a mackerel sky, and then Isidro,
who always talked by signs, would cock his eye heaven-
ward, nod mysteriously, and holding his hand, palm
downward, wriggle his fingers in a way to suggest fall-
ing water : still it did n't rain. Every evening at sun-
set, when the wind blew up the caiion, hurling clouds of
sand and dead leaves right and left, we said, " It will
certainly rain to-night ! " and then the night would come
soft and clear, with a starlit sky. February is late for
heavy rains and the miners began to despair. They
found some com.fort telling me how the flood had acted
in previous years ; how the waters roared till they
could n't hear each other's voices, hurling great logs
358
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 359
along with the speed of a mill-race, tumbling immense
boulders down stream like so many pebbles and shutting
off communications with the other camps for weeks.
The little San Dimas arroyo was a raging torrent, and the
river, with which it unites just below the hacienda, an
angry sea. The placid charco, where we went swim-
ming, became a lake, with a forty foot dive off the rocks,
and catfish galore for the mere casting a line. Then
they added consolingly, that although I had missed it, I
should doubtless see it all another time.
The wind had been hot and dry all day, and there were
more sand and dead leaves than usual in consequence.
We had become used to disappointment and though the
skies were dubious, we only said in disgusted tones, " But
it won't rain ! " At nightfall it began to sprinkle in a
half-hearted way, and those who knew the signs said it
meant a storm ; but I remained skeptical and went to
bed without giving it a second thought. Once or twice
I woke in the night and heard the rain striking the corru-
gated iron overhead, but even then I did n't realize what
it really meant. My morning doze was broken into by
a great banging on the window shutters, and amid the
deafening roar of the waters I heard a voice shouting,
" Get up and see the flood." I flung the shutters open
and, though it was barely light, I could see that the
arroyo, which the day before I had crossed on stepping
stones, at most ten feet wrde, had been transformed in a
night into a mighty river, filling the bottom of the im-
mense canon, which at that point was nearly two hundred
feet wide. The water was running easily fifteen miles
an hour and I could hear the constant bumping and feel
the jar of the big rocks as they were dashed against the
foundations of the hacienda.
As it grew lighter, we saw the river, which was
36o THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
grandly beautiful, with trunks of immense trees rid-
ing its billows. A steady drizzle was still falling, but
the delights of such a day, coming after a long spell
of hot dry weather, were not to be withstood.
Everybody cautioned everybody else to beware of
calentiira (fever) which was prevalent in those parts,
but no one stayed indoors. First there were all the
animals to be visited. The mules were huddled together
in a sad group under the fodder-stack, and the cow
stood gazing dejectedly at her offspring, who, though
safe under cover, was bawling frantically. Even the
pig's monologue had assumed a cynical tone: the roost-
ers were trailing their bedraggled tail-feathers, and
the doves, who had persistently shunned their com-
fortable little houses, preferring to roost on the ridge-
pole and coquette with the stars, were so benumbed
from the wet and cold, they could scarcely fly or even
walk without pitching over. Many an unfortunate
found his way to that refuge for feathered invalids — the
kitchen. The dogs had the best of it for while they
were supposed to be on guard at night, I was sure some
of the peones, who were fond of them, had harbored
them during the worst of it. They were jubilant in
consequence leaping upon us with their muddy paws.
And the pet burro, whose name was " Johnny," did
what he could, braying dismally all day at ten-minute
intervals, in tones that sounded more than ever in need
of scraping and oiling.
The mines were on the opposite side of the arroyo
from the town, and the workmen were shut off from
their supply of tortillas and beans. There was no way
to get food across the river, and I doubt if the women
would have found time to cook in any event, they were
so taken up watching the flood. The men refused to
^fe*..^ -.iik.,^i ^% •*•' . #L&-
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 363
work on empty stomachs and besides they wanted to
see the flood too, so they came trooping down from the
mines. By noon they were ranged up in Hnes on the op-
posite banks, the women on one side, the men on the
other. It is on such occasions the sign-language demon-
strates its superiority over all others. In spite of the
noise of the water, those Indians talked across the ar-
royo. I imagine the gist of what was said resolved it-
self into " I 'm hungry ! " on one side and " Come and
get your dinner then ! " on the other. At last a venture-
some young peon decided to make the attempt. It was
an exciting moment as he stripped off his loose cotton
clothing, and stood, slender and dark, on the edge of
the torrent. He leaped in and tried at first to wade
but the current swept him from his feet and he dis-
appeared. Where was he? Would he be dashed on
the rocks? No, there he was swimming down stream,
his dark head just showing above the foam. He landed
fifty yards below and made for the town, where a pair
of brown hands was already patting tortillas against
his coming. One quality is never at a discount, be the
owner high or low ; it is courage and that peon boy had
it. By night, the water had gone down sufficiently for
wading, and the men were crossing in droves, carrying
their clothing on their heads. Some of the weaker ones
were afraid to try it, as the current was still tremendous
and the water came to the arm-pits ; and these, the
stouter ones carried over on their shoulders.
I was prepared for a change the next morning, but not
for the one I saw. From a river, close on to two hun-
dred feet wide, the arroyo had subsided into a trifle
over its usual width ; but with an added volume and
velocity that suggested sufficient reserve to last a long
time. The water was ice-cold and we hoped that it
18
364 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
came from melting snow, which would assure its con-
tinuance.
The havoc that a small and apparently inoffensive
mountain stream can create in a night, aided and abetted
by the innumerable smaller ones that are its tributaries,
is incalculable. Every rill contributes its mite and the
united water of hundreds of rills soon constitutes an
irresistible torrent. Woe to the unlucky mill owner,
whose works happen to come within the danger line.
A few years ago, this same arroyo carried away an en-
tire pipe-line and its bed is still strewn, half-way to
the coast, with sections of iron pipe : while a huge boiler,
four feet in diameter and sixteen feet long, was whisked
away like a stick of w^ood. After a long and fruitless
search, the owners concluded it had gone out to sea ;
but several years later, the water uncovered it where it
lay embedded in the sand, over three miles down the
arroyo. The precept for mill owners would seem to
be, " roost high ! "
While a mountain flood frequently subsides as quickly
as it came, its havoc makes travel dangerous for weeks
afterward. As a result of the present flood, our mail
was delayed for two weeks, and the waiting seemed
interminable. I have known tense moments, but none
that surpasses the arrival of the mail in lonely places,
which for weeks have been isolated from the rest of the
world by the floods : shut off by the impassable moun-
tains. It is then the mountains dominate us and silence
our pretentiousness. Like the ocean, they are immutable
and relentless. We know that though every human
tie we possess is calling, it cannot reach us, for it is
death to attempt to cross the mountains in time of flood.
At last the mail arrived, carried by a mozo on mule-
back, and Doiia Marciana, after giving him a quart
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 365
of hot coffee, assorted and distributed the letters as was
her custom. I recognized the writing of a New York
friend, with the postmark " Mexico City." In his letter
he said that he had sailed from New York four weeks
since, having decided to pay me a visit, and that he was
then in Mexico City. He hoped I would return there
at once or send for him. I consulted my friends, but
they said it was out of the question; for only the most
intrepid and experienced mozos could get through
alive. Again I felt the thrall of the mountains. But
we chafe under the limitations imposed by nature, and
I began to long for Mexico City and felt impelled
to return there, — the more so on account of my friend's
visit.
I have found that the success of an undertaking, what-
ever the obstacles may be, is furthered by the deliberate
beginning of preparations ; and though my friends were
doubtful as to how soon I could safely begin my journey,
I engaged a mozo and pack-animals and began to get my
outfit in shape. I was scarcely ready when, the weather
having changed abruptly, the mail mozo assured me the
trails were passable and the streams low enough for
crossing. It had been decided that I should ride Don
Alfredo's mule, " Queen " ; and while I hesitated to ac-
cept his kind offer, the prospect of four days astride such
an excellent saddle-animal was irresistible. In the
mountains, the loan of a man's rifle or of his mule is the
test of unselfish friendship. This mule was gaited like
a horse, with a fast trot and an easy gallop; and as the
mozo was well-mounted, I hoped to make Durango in
four days, which was record time. Our first day's ride
should take us to the rancho San Miguel, and it was
my intention to sleep there.
The ascent to the summit took the entire forenoon,
2,66 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
and after a hurried lunch and brief rest for the mules,
I pushed on over the level mesa, in the direction of the
rancho. At sundown we were still in the pines, and
my mozo wanted to go into camp, but I had several
reasons for wishing to sleep at the rancho. First, it
meant that we had covered the distance allotted for a
good day's riding: and second, I had heard the praises
of Don Bias, the brother of Don Luis, from my friends
in the mines, and I was determined to meet him and
make his acquaintance. The dusk that had pervaded the
pine forest was now dispelled by the moon, and after
two hours' fast riding we reached the rancho, and to
my satisfaction Don Bias himself came out to welcome
me, and to place his house at my disposal. Don Luis
and the other members of the family were grouped
around a big fire in the yard, with their zarapes about
them ; but Don Bias was in his shirt-sleeves, his ruddy
face and portly figure seeming to set at naught the nip-
ping night air. I was glad to go to the fire and when
the saddles were off the animals I told the mozo to get
supper, but Don Bias had other plans. He said that I
must partake of tantitos frijolcs (a few beans) with him;
so we went into the cozy little dining-room where the
table was laid for two. The supper consisted of de-
licious frijoles, flaky tortillas and coffee. My provi-
sion box was crammed with good things, but something
in the port of Don Bias told me that to suggest opening
it would be as ill-timed, as it would were I supping
with the President. Don Bias had some of the good
things later, but they were offered with due reference to
form, I found that my estimate of Don Bias was right
when we came to settle accounts. Not one cent would
he take except for the corn, which he really had for
sale. His " No, sefior " meant " No." Of course there
THE MAN WHO LHvES ^lEXICO 367
is a " No," that really means " Yes " ; but the " No "
of Don Bias was not of this breed.
Before the evening was over, he told me his history.
He was the oldest of a large family. His mother died in
child-birth, but her sister came to mother the family, and
in those days there was plenty of money, his father own-
ing a large rancho stocked with sheep and cattle, and a
silver mine. Then the father died. The property was
left in charge of a near male relative, who, after the man-
ner often peculiar to male relatives, proceeded to appro-
priate it entirely to his own ends. The good aunt, with
her brood of orphans, found herself penniless and natu-
rally turned to Don Bias, who was then fourteen years old.
His one accomplishment was playing the harp, and when
the people found he would play for money he was sum-
moned from far and near, to make music for dances. " I
always played with great gusto, but when they got drunk,
it frightened me, and I hid among the women," he said.
Music brought but little money and Don Bias tried his
hand as baker, cook, and store boy, while the good aunt
took in sewing and washing and together they kept the
wolf from the door. Finally his love of the mountains
and an out-of-door life led him to become an arriero or
freighter ; and he now owned his own mules and outfit,
and the little rancho where he enjoyed life w4ien not on
the road.
I asked Don Bias why he had never married. He
said he had always been too busy, first taking care
of his young brothers and sisters, and later of their
children. The rancho was then overrun with small
nieces and nephews and judging from the resounding
smacks I heard him giving them, when they came to say,
" May you pass a good night ! " they were like his own
children to him. " I have always been content in seek-
368 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
ing a living," said Don Bias. I fancied his contentment
was mainly due to the fact that he was living for those
rosy-cheeked youngsters who were forever hanging about
him. In nearly every family, there is one who far out-
strips the others in gaining this world's goods ; but I
believe it is rare in other countries for the successful one
to take upon himself the care of his entire family, as so
often is the case in Mexico.
We were in the pine woods the greater part of the next
day, and our progress was slow owing to the bad con-
dition of the trail, and the great number of fallen trees,
which often lay in our path, compelling us to ride around
them. The streams were deep and care was necessary
to cross them safely. Throughout this journey, the
mule, " Queen," showed rare intelligence. Though
nervous and easily excited, she was gentle and kind.
As is usual with thoroughbreds, her skin was delicate,
and I found the saddle was chafing her — or rather she
informed me, by rubbing her nose against my leg. I
got off and shifted the saddle, and from that time, when-
ever her back hurt her, she gave me notice in the same
way; yet gently and with the utmost patience.
That night we camped in the valley, and while the
mozo was cooking supper, I bathed Queen's back and
rubbed it with liniment. As I was eating my supper, a
young peon appeared from out of the darkness, and
taking off his hat, asked if he might sleep by the fire
and then walk with us to Durango, saying he would help
with the mules. He was a gentle little lad, and my mozo
was pleased to have a companion. After they had eaten
supper, they began singing. They came from the same
part of the mountains, it seemed, and sang the same
songs. I soon fell asleep, lulled by their soft agreeable
voices.
Dofia Marciana on tlie trail
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 371
When we started, the following morning, I feared the
boy would not keep up, but he was light and swift as a
deer. Sometimes he would vanish and I feared he had
given out; but to my surprise he would be waiting for
us ahead on the trail. This he managed by crossing the
ridges, where the trail went around them; and this
method of travel is common among the Indians when
on foot.
I was riding across a beautiful piece of meadowland,
when from the pines that skirted it, a man on a white
horse emerged and rode toward me, his horse's hoofs
making no sound as he glided over the springy turf —
a silent horseman from out the silence. As he came
near I recognized Gregorio, who was one of our most
faithful miners in the old Huahuapan district. We had
not met for more than a year, and of the two, I was the
more moved by our meeting. Riding beside me, he lifted
his hat, gave me his hand, and made inquiries for Don
Alfredo, Dona Marciana, and Gumecinda. Then he
asked when he should have the pleasure of seeing us
" there," — meaning Huahuapan. I recovered my man-
ners sufficiently to say that I hoped it might be soon, and
after shaking hands again, he gravely lifted his hat, and
rode silently and swiftly away. I have often wondered
at the serene poise of these people; I think they have
become imbued with the calm of their own mountains.
I doubt not if Gregorio and I meet in ten years, for
any demonstration on his part the interval will seem as
a day.
My last night in the mountains was spent in an inter-
esting spot called Charco Puerco (Pig Charco), its one
redeeming feature being that it was near Durango. It
had rained in the afternoon, and though the sky was clear
when I turned in, the wind was blowing a gale, which
2,'72 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
grew more violent as the night went on. I had heard all
along the road of the recent hurricanes and had never
before seen so many fallen trees. When I finally fell
asleep, the pines overhead were lashing about like whip-
cords, I awoke at one o'clock. The sky was black
with clouds, the wind had subsided and it was beginning
to rain. At two I called the mozo. Meantime it had
begun to thunder and lighten and by the time the pack-
mules were loaded, there was a sharp electric storm un-
der way. Streaks of fire were darting across the sky,
the thunder was pealing on all sides, and the rain fell
in sheets. I was again anxious about the young peon,
but he was as cheerful as possible, and trotted along beside
the mozo's mule. I had them take the lead with the
pack-mules, and though I could only see them when it
lightened, I heard the steady splash of the mules' feet
as they jogged along the muddy trail. I hoped the
weather would change for the better at daybreak ; but
it grew cold and the rain turned to hail. It evidently
hurt the mules and they refused to go, except under
liberal persuasion. The ground was soon white and
from that time, for nine hours, it rained and hailed
alternately, with the most glorious electric storm I ever
experienced, and with dazzling bursts of sunshine in
between, that lasted at most ten minutes at a time.
Then great masses of clouds would dart up from the
horizon, the sky would grow black in the twinkling of
an eye, and the storm would begin again.
I passed a burro train laden with heavy timbers. The
Indian boy who was driving them was a sorry looking
object, but as I came up to him, I heard the familiar
strains of " La Paloma " and found he was playing a
mouth-organ. He was covered with mud and the water
was running off his soaked sombrero upon his more
THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO 373
soaked zarape, but if facial expression meant anything,
he was perfectly happy.
The first glimpse of Durango, as I approached it from
the mountains, was wonderful. I was riding across an
extensive mesa, thinking of nothing in particular, when
suddenly I saw it, lying away off over the tops of the
intervening mountains, veiled in ethereal blue like a
mirage, a dream city. This time, though I was riding in
the rain, the sun was shining on the cathedral towers,
and the city seemed to rest on the clouds, which were
piled below it and all about it. It was my promised land,
yet near as it seemed, it was still a good four hours'
ride away. " Queen " saw it as quickly as I did. She
was a Durango mule, but had not seen her native soil
for three years. She was dead tired, but in the same
instant that I discerned the city, she pointed her ears
inquisitively, and struck into a smart trot. When we
lost sight of it, she lagged, but on a second glimpse, up
went her ears and off she trotted. When she was
bought in Durango, she had for stable mate a white
horse, and mules are fond of horses. When we struck
the highway, leading into the city, we found it heavy
from the rain, and I vowed I would not touch her with
the spur if she walked all the way to Durango. Sud-
denly a Mexican passed me at a gallop on a white horse.
She pricked up her ears, whinnied, and started off at a
lively trot again, never quitting it till we entered the city.
It is a long ride that has no ending. This one had
meant fourteen hours in the saddle without a halt ; but
presently I found myself before the hotel, with the
amiable mozo, Leon, grinning in the zaguan. With his
kindly assistance I was soon in bed, and after a bite to
eat and an alcohol rub, I fell asleep, to wake the next
morning " as fit as a fiddle." After settling accounts
374 THE MAN WHO LIKES MEXICO
with the mozo, I went to the corral to take leave of
" Queen," who was to return with him to the mines.
The other mules had freight to carry home, but " Queen "
would frolic along the trail without so much as the
weight of a saddle. She received my farewell caress
pleasantly, and when I called her " Queen of Durango
Mules," did not demur.
That night, when I took train for Mexico City, it was
with a feeling of contentment. I already anticipated
anew the pleasant life of the capital. But underlying
all, for future solace, was the thought of my late journey,
— of other journeys, however distant, over Mexico's
illimitable mountains.
Two ties unite my heart to Mexico — first, love of
friends ; last and always, her mountains.
Rough-piled, far-flung, unending, range on range;
And still beyond all wrapped in purple mist,
Are mountains dimly beckoning. . . .
THE END
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